Mercy
by Zarabethe
Summary: Death Knights are such interesting characters. All of them, to a one, have a tragic story. This is the story of Shirelle, my draenei priest, and Maerciless, my husband's death knight. More than friends, not quite lovers, Maerciless is Shirelle's strength, and Shirelle is her humanity.
1. Chapter 1

Shirelle wiped the sweat off her forehead as and she wearily filled out paperwork on the new arrivals in the infirmary. Another attack on Tol Barad, but the Alliance firmly kept its hold on the strategical base this time. Like every battle however, there were casualties. 34 wounded, 12 of those enough to admit overnight, and not enough beds or space for everyone. Her partner tonight, a robust dwarven paladin, had helped her get everyone settled in more or less, then dashed off to get more supplies from the stores. There weren't too many severe injuries, but apparently the group had been drinking on the way back after the battle and some of them were in worse shape for that than any physical ailments. Shirelle's mouth twisted at the thought of babysitting soldiers sleeping off the effects of liquor. What would she do with them if someone seriously ill arrived and needed their bed? She got up and walked the rows again, checking names and numbers on bed with ailments. Male night elf with lacerations on his chest and broken rib. A pair of gnome mages spent from mana-exhaustion. Dwarf with a broken ankle, came in belligerent and drunk. She was so glad he had passed out while they set and wrapped his bones. Then in this corner, several humans with nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, but drunk and bone-tired. Her hooves clicked on the floor as she moved past them at a quicker pace. Two of them had made a pass at her while she and Freyda were checking everyone over, one of them being impertinent enough to grab her tail. She shuddered as she remembered his groping fingers. Other species seemed to not realize how sensitive draenei tails were, and treated it like an extra hand or other appendage. But their tails were full of delicate nerve endings, and in fact were decorated and made much of in her culture as an object of beauty and sexual enhancement. Freyda had roughly put the two back in their place, but she still felt a little unnerved from their advances. Finished with her rounds, she strode back over to the desk and filed her paperwork. Freyda was taking her time getting supplies...probably grabbing some food while she was out. They were both in for a long watch tonight. She leaned back in her chair, lightly dozing, when she heard a low moan from the other side of the room. She sat up just in time to hear a crash and some cursing. She hurried over to see a human pulling himself to standing, shaking his head to clear it. Her blood chilled a little: it was one of the men from earlier.

"...Sir?" she cleared her throat, willing confidence in it. "Sir, I need you to lay back down now, you are still ill."

The soldier lifted his head and his face broke into a lazy grin that didn't quite meet his red eyes. "Well, if it isn't my favorite nurse," he said, taking an unsteady step in her direction. She did not like the look on his face: he seemed to be regaining his balance with each passing minute. She took a step back to mirror his own.

"Sir, if you are feeling better, you are free to sign out, but you have to check in with your Captain when you leave," she attempted to deflect him to proper protocol. He continued to advance slowly. Every step unnerved her more and more until she lost her composure. "I'll just get the paperwork for you," she squeaked, and turn and dashed the few steps back to her desk. _Slow down, slow down_, she reprimanded herself as she hurriedly dug through stacks on the desk. _You are not acting professional. You are panicking over nothing._ She continued to berate herself until she felt his hot breath suddenly on the back of her neck.

"Don't worry about that, sweetheart," he whispered. She froze, still clutching a piece of paper. "I'm in no hurry out of here."

_Breathe._ "Sir, I think you better leave now," she said, unable to keep her voice from shaking. She made herself set the forms down on the desk and turned slowly. The smell of sweat and alcohol clung to the man's disheveled clothing; he was tall and stocky for a human, but still not quite reaching her considerable height. It was the cocky confidence on his face that was formidable, not his stature: his eyes shone with an emotion she could not place as they swept down her body. Hunger? She blushed despite herself: she wanted to cross her arms in front of her chest and back away.

"Ah come on, sweetheart, there's no need for that, " he said, leaning forward. She stepped backwards until she bumped into the desk. "Look at the frown on that pretty blue face. Let's see a smile." he reached a hand towards her cheek and something snapped inside her.

"Don't touch me," she said sharply, smacking his hand away. She started to turn to leave when faster than she could have imagined, his fingers closed around her wrist, and he moved with the motion of her hand, twisting her arm around behind her, pressing himself against her so she was slightly leaning back over the desk. He ran his free hand up her neck and to her face. She shivered. "Come on baby, smile for me."

"Let go of me," her voice came out much tinier than she meant to. She pulled at his grip, panic rising inside her.

The grin on his face turned down to a sneer. "You draenei woman are all the same," he said, no longer bothering to keep his voice quiet. He twisted her arm sharply behind her and she cried out. "You all think you are so much better than us lowly humans." He caught her other arm and twisted it as well, locking both her arms behind her back with one hand. In one motion turned her around and slammed her upper body against the desk, pressing his legs against hers to hold her in place. The position left her tail vulnerable, and he did not waste the opportunity. He grabbed it and yanked hard, digging his fingernails in. She screamed as pain surged through her body, nauseating her.

"Stop it!" she cried, her voice finally finding her. She desperately tried to pull away as he continued to abuse her tail as he spoke.

"So exotic. So pure. So good," he panted, punctuating each sentence with a savage pull. All words, all defensive spells flew from her mind as Shirelle sobbed, trying not to vomit. He dropped her bruised tail finally and she closed her eyes, thinking the onslaught was over.

"But I'll let you in on a little secret," he continued. He started fumbling at his belt. She stiffened in horror, finally realizing his intent. She pulled harder against his grip, trying to turn her body to the side, to bring her legs up, anything to stop him. He grabbed her arms with both hands, nearly losing her in her sudden fervor to get away. He pressed against her closer: his arousal was apparent as he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"You all still want the same thing," He ground his hips into her. She started to scream, and then with no warning, she felt his hands torn off of her. Her arms hit the desk in its suddenness: from across the room came a horrible crash. She turned her head, and through her bangs she saw him struggling to his feet. Chains of ice erupted out of the floor to snake around his legs, holding him immobile. A whisper of cold air blew through the room as an imposing figure dressed in solid black armor strode without hesitation toward the cowering human. Her body trembled with her barely-controlled rage as she reached her target, but her arms were steady as she lifted the blade of her impossibly big sword directly to his throat. The human swallowed loudly, whimpering.

"Do not speak again." the Death Knight's husky voice was like the breeze off a lake in winter. The human trembled visibly but remained silent.

"Oy!" cried a female voice from the doorway. Freyda had dropped the bags she was laden with by the door and was rushing towards the commotion. Some of the patients were starting to wake and mutter among themselves. "Wot the hell is goin' on here?!" Like most things with her, it was a demand, not a question. She turned on the imprisoned human. "Horace, git yer arse out of me sick ward, and I'm reportin' ye to yer Captain in the morrow!" Her brogue came out in full force in her anger. The Death Knight lowered her sword, and the ice fell from his legs. Horace fell stumbling into a run, bumping into beds as he tried to stare at his captor in terror and flee at the same time. Crashing into the door jam, he finally turned and ran for his life.

"Buggerin' idiot," the dwarf mumbled to herself as she started settling the gawkers back in to their beds and straightening the room. Shirelle had not moved since she first saw her rescuer cornering the human, but now as reality started to sink in, her legs started to shake and she slid to the floor behind the desk. She didn't care if the patients saw her; she wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and squeezed her eyes shut as tears formed at the edges. Presently a soft clicking came around the side of the desk. She shivered at the sudden drop of temperature.

"Are you alright?" The same low, husky voice quietly asked her. Shirelle opened her eyes to see the Death Knight kneeling down beside her. Her sword was now sheathed, and her manner was more subdued. Piercing eyes the color of blue crystal met hers. Shirelle stared, amazed at their depths. The Death Knight's skin was much darker than hers, although the same hue of blue, and it was her hooves that clicked on the floor; she was a draenei as well. Dragging her gaze away from the eyes that seemed to pull her in, she nodded her head shortly.

"I'm okay," she said in a tiny, shaking voice. Words started to tumble out of her mouth. "He was drunk, and angry, he tried to...he..." she couldn't complete the thought. "But he didn't, so I'm okay." she finished lamely, looking away. She was suddenly acutely aware of how much of a mess she must look: tears covering her face, her hair straggling out of the buns she had braided to the sides of her head before her shift. Self-consciously she tried to tuck her bangs behind her ears.

"Why did you not defend yourself?" The question was curious, not an accusation. "You are a priest, are you not?"

Shirelle felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. "I...don't know. It happened so quickly, I just panicked." Her eyes did not meet the other draenei's. Her humiliation weighted her to the ground.

"That drunk idiot didn't scare ye, did he Shir?" asked Freyda as she rounded the other side of the desk. She must have retrieved her packages from the doorway: she started opening them and sorting the contents. "I could hear ye yellin' as I came up the hallway. I opened the door just in time ta see Maerciless here grab Horace and chuck 'im 'gainst the wall. The bugger prob'ly pissed himself in fright." the dwarf chuckled. "He's just a harmless fool who can't hold 'is ale though. What was he doin', tryin' to impress ye with 'is good looks?"

From the corner of her eye she saw the Death Knight (Maerciless?) stand and lean casually against the desk. She ran a hand through her tousled black hair: it stood up in short curly masses all over her head. It gave her a bit of a crazed look. Her eyes flashed brilliant blue.

"I believe the human was trying to...assault her," she informed the dwarf quietly. The pause in her sentence along with the look she gave the dwarf paladin relayed her meaning. Shirelle ducked her head further down and shifted her weight off her aching tail. Shame flared on her cheeks. Freyda immediately put down the medicine bottles she was sorting.

"Oh Shir, are ye alright?" Freyda crouched down in front of where the priest was sitting. Shirelle felt tears prick at the edge of her eyes. The attention the two were lavishing on her was mortifying: she just wanted to forget it ever happened.

"I'm fine Freyda," she said weakly. She tried again. "I'll be okay. Nothing really happened," she said a little louder.

"Come 'ere, let me check ye' out," the dwarf said, pulling her to her feet. Shirelle stood obediently, trying to show strength she didn't feel. She held her arms out for inspection.

"Just some red marks on my wrists. No permanent damage," she said lightly. She turned towards the piles of medical supplies on the desk, desperate to take the focus off of her, and the paladin gasped.

"Yer tail, Shirelle." Shirelle looked behind her and gasped as well: her tail was covered in a mottling of purple. There were a few scratches as well, and one swollen place that was surely a broken bone. Now that she saw the damage, she realized how much her tail throbbed. With each pulse the pain shot up her spine, leaving her feeling sick to stomach. A hiss of air drew her attention to Maerciless, whose eyes were narrowed in rage as she stared at the priest's tail.

"I should have taken his head off," she growled through closed teeth. Her hand opened and closed on the hilt of her sword, as if she were visualizing the deed in her head.

"Oh don't ye worry 'bout Horace." the dwarf's eyes flashed as she gingerly inspected the injury. "His drunk arse will be 'eaded straight ta jail after the report I'm turnin' in the morrow. I'll not have 'im threatenin' me healers or me patients. Hold still now, I think it's just dislocated."

Shirelle clenched her teeth and dug her fingernails into the wood of the desk, but still cried out as Freyda set the bones back in place. The dwarf efficiently wrapped a bandage around it to hold it in place as it healed.

"There ye go. Give it a day or so ta set afore ye use any healing spells on it. Should be right as rain in a week or two." The dwarf went back to organizing the detritus on the desk. "I've got everything under control here Shir, why don't ye head on home for tonight? Ye've had a rough go of it. "

She did not even bother to protest. She was all too happy to be away from Freyda's mothering, and as much as she was grateful for the Death Knight's help, the intensity of her gaze frightened her a little. She listened to the dwarf continue her conversation with Maerciless with half an ear as she started to the closet to gather her things.

"So what were ye needing Maerciless, before ye swept in to rescue Miss Damsel in Distress here? Which I'm sure she's grateful for, o' course." Shirelle managed a wan smile in their direction before turning back to her task. She was quite done with being the topic of discussion.

"I need to pick up some stomach remedy for my par-uh, roommate," Maerciless replied, sounding distracted. For the first time since she had swept through the door, she stumbled over her words. Shirelle glanced up from fastening her cloak to see the Death Knight's cold blue eyes regarding her thoughtfully. Freyda rambled on, not seeming to notice.

"Fer Aeschlie, o'course. Ye'd think by now she'd know not ta trust an'thing Paul Kubit has ta sell down by the dock." Freyda bustled about in the potions closet. Apparently this was a conversation they had often. "There's a reason The Assurance never left harbour..." her voice became too muffled to understand. Shirelle had everything in order, yet she found herself unable to step past Maerciless's gaze to get to the door. _Does she ever blink?_ To her horror she felt red return to her cheeks. She did not like being scrutinized. She dropped her eyes to the ground again, willing the Death Knight to look anywhere but her, so she could pass and make it to her bunk with the other healers in the barracks, and the peace that sweet oblivion would bring.

"Would you like me to walk you to your sleeping quarters?" The low voice was so quiet she almost missed it. Shirelle's eyes were drawn upward again. The Death Knight's face was so hard to read. Was that an earnest look? Sincere? Pitying? The last was most believable: she must seem incredibly weak to her. Freyda's voice came piping up from the back of the room as she returned with two potion bottles.

"That's not a bad idea, Shir," she said as she plunked both potions down on the desk. "Horace is prob'ly slinkin' around somewhere drinkin' again, disgustin' sot that 'e is. This one's fer you," she handed one potion to Maerciless, "and this one's fer you," she handed the red one to Shirelle. "It's a pain tonic. Ye know how ta use it."

"I know how to make a pain tonic, Freyda," Shirelle muttered irritably. She put it in her satchel anyway. As much as she wanted to get away, Freyda's words lodged a seed of worry in her brain; what if he was waiting outside for her? Without warning, she felt again his groping, grasping fingers on her and a slow shudder started up her back. She squeezed her eyes shut and the feeling faded, but too late: both Freyda and Maerciless saw her shaking. Freyda's eyes were a worried chocolate brown and Maerciless's a cold flame of blue anger.

"I will escort you home." The Death Knight's voice left no room for argument as she stowed the stomach remedy potion away and stalked out of the room, a cold breeze following in her wake. She stood at the door with a hand on the hilt of her sword and waited as Shirelle meekly followed her, her hooves echoing quietly across the room..

A light drizzle was falling as they stepped out in the night air. Shirelle pulled the hood of her cloak up to shield her face, although her companion seemed to not notice the rain as it fell on her head with heavy drops. Her short black hair quickly became plastered to her head as she led a swift pace towards the Stormwind barracks. Shirelle hurried to keep up, wincing as the bouncing sent lines of pain through her tail. She was so focused on making her steps as soft as possible that she ran right into Maerciless, who had pulled up short. Across the canal, a small group of men were lounging by the entrance to the barracks. Some talking loudly, a few singing, all of them drunk. Clearly this was a continuation of the victory party that started before the soldiers had even left Tol Barad. The king was very strict about allowing alcohol inside the barracks, but turned a blind eye to the raucous parties that followed victory over the Horde.

Maerciless only deliberated a moment before spinning on her heels and headed in the opposite direction. Having no choice but to follow, Shirelle tried to hurry as much as she could, clenching her teeth as she limped along behind. After several minutes of pain, she finally called out to the Death Knight.

"Wait! Please, slow down." The other draenei paused and turned, already several shops ahead of the priest. Shirelle instantly felt embarrassed, but continued on.

"Please, I can't go that fast right now." The Death Knight waited patiently for her to catch up, then set a much slower pace, turning her blue eyes to the priest occasionally to make sure she was following. Although the icy air that seemed to emanate off of the other draenei's skin made her pull her cloak around her more tightly, she felt comforted to have someone close by to walk with. The rain started to fall a little heavier, and Shirelle watched it run down Maerciless's black hair and horns in rivulets. Curiosity made her bold.

"Can't you feel the rain?" she blurted out. Maerciless glanced at her, then up at the cloud-filled sky, as if she had just noticed the weather.

"Yes," she said distractedly as she pulled her hood up to cover her head. She turned and looked at the priest. "It doesn't bother me though."

They walked in silence a few more minutes before Shirelle spoke again.

"Where are we going?" She had just realized that they were headed back near the Cathedral district; although the infirmary was not the preferred place to sleep, she guessed it would do under the circumstances.

"I don't think I could have gotten you into the barracks without a few of Stormwind's finest losing their heads." There might have been the hint of amusement in the Death Knight's low voice. "I'm taking you to stay with me tonight. Aeschlie will be needing her medicine, and the hunters are off gallivanting in the wilds somewhere anyway. There will be plenty of room for you to stay there. You will be safer with us than in that den of filth."

Shirelle started to protest, then realized that unless she wanted to go back to Freyda, she had literally no where else to go. She swallowed instead, and slowly limped after the other draenei. Her need to rest and heal was quickly overtaking her embarrassment. She followed Maerciless as she turned onto a small side street on the canal-side of the Cathedral district. Her face fell as the darker-skinned draenei started up two flights of stairs to a small door set into the side of the brick building, but she gritted her teeth and made it to the top without a sound. Maerciless turned and offered her hand up the last few steps. Her tail was in so much pain she did not think twice about taking her hand and leaning against her arm as they walked the last few steps. Through the fog in her brain she briefly wondered what the Death Knight's skin would feel like; would it be ice cold, like the armor she was holding on to? It would explain the aura of cold that surrounded her every movement. Shirelle leaned against the taller draenei's shoulder, briefly closing her eyes and thinking longingly of the pain tonic in her satchel as Maerciless unlocked the door to her apartment. She gently led the priest in and then locked the door behind them. Shirelle only had a moment to take in her surroundings (well-worn and sparse furniture in a large open room, with several doors leading off into bedrooms) when a loud retching sound came from behind the far door on the left. Maerciless quickly let go of her arm and pushed one door open on her way to what was obviously the bathroom.

"My room is in here. I'll be right back," she said as she threw her cloak on a chair and dug through a pouch for the stomach remedy. She knocked quietly on the bathroom door.

"Aeschlie?" she said as she pushed the door open. Shirelle was surprised to hear obvious tenderness in the Death Knight's husky voice as she stuck her head around the door to check on her roommate.

"Just leave it on the counter!" the voice from behind the door sounded angry, and very much alive. Shirelle realized she had been expecting another member of the Ebon Blade and found herself minutely relieved. Maerciless started to speak quietly to her roommate and Shirelle tuned them out as she looked for somewhere to sit. Her entire body was aching. She started to lower herself into one of the available chairs but almost immediately straightened back up; her lower back, tail, and even her bottom and upper thighs were filled with an intense burning pain as soon as she put pressure there. Shirelle's shoulders slumped and her eyes started to fill with tears. She was so exhausted. How was she supposed to rest when all she could do was stand? Pain tonics tended to work strongly on her—even if she took a small amount it was sure to make her dizzy. She couldn't even consider taking it if she couldn't sit or lay down. Sniffing back tears and feeling very sorry for herself, she hobbled into the room Maerciless claimed to be hers, hoping to find perhaps some extra pillows to soften the chair with. The room was very neat and sparse, with an adequate bed, neatly made, a dresser with nothing on top of it, and racks for armor and weapons in one corner with polish and rags for cleaning them. Several traveling cloaks hung on the back of the door. Wearily Shirelle leaned against the dresser. She brushed her damp bangs out of her eyes and looked around for a mirror to try and fix her hair. There was not one reflective surface in the entire room. She looked at the bed for a moment and decided it had to be softer than the chair. Very carefully, she eased down onto it, leaning on her side instead of her tail. Throwing propriety out the window, she lay down the rest of the way on the bed, finally taking the pressure off her throbbing injuries. She breathed deep and tried to think like a healer: though her tail and possibly her lower back were definitely wounded, the pain in her upper thighs was probably tense muscles. More than likely, all she needed as a good rest and one dose of the pain tonic to assure her sleep. The sound of hooves on the wooden floor interrupted her thoughts as Maerciless strode into the room rubbing her eyes, a wave of cold air preceding her.

"She'll be alright. She always insists on buying food from the same person even though half the time it makes her sick. She says the fish remind her of home. She misses Draenor terribly." As she spoke, the Death Knight hung her cloak on the back of the door and started to unbuckle the outer pieces of her armor. Shirelle suddenly realized that she was lying on the bed of someone she barely knew and was a little afraid of. She sat up quickly, hissing through her teeth at the pain.

"No, go ahead and lay down. You're injured," the darker-skinned draenei hung up pieces of her armor neatly on its hooks. "I checked Shan and Nim's room, and it's terrible. Smells like animals. You can have my bed tonight."

Shirelle watched as Maerciless settled her back against the wall and tended to her sword, sharpening out the rough places and oiling the leather. Confusion and curiosity bubbled up inside of her until she blurted out, "Why are you being so kind to me?"

Maerciless paused in her work and her intense blue eyes met Shirelle's silver ones momentarily, then returned to her sword. For a moment she didn't think she would answer. When she did speak, her voice was very quiet and even huskier than usual.

"I was a paladin once. Aeschlie was my partner. We were very skilled in the ways of the Light, and together we made a formidable team. We wanted nothing more than to prove ourselves to our new allies, and were assigned a scouting mission against the Scarlet Crusade. We had dealt with religious zealots before, on Draenor; we thought we could more than handle it. We were wrong." Maerciless finished caring for her great 2-hand sword, and took out several small ones. "I was captured. Aeschlie barely managed to escape. She thought I was dead. I very quickly wished I was. This group of Scarlets was particularly insane: they had gathered a group of prisoners they were going to try and bait the Scourge with to come get, and they would lay a trap and kill them all. They of course could not dirty their hands with managing prisoners, and had hired a vicious group of mercenaries to handle things. Their job was to break us. And break us they did." The Death Knight had stopped sharpening her blades and was just sitting there holding them as she recanted her tale. Although her voice was quiet and deadpan, her face showed the briefest amount of pain. Shirelle felt her stomach drop as she started to guess where the story led.

"We were all beaten and starved. The women were violated repeatedly in the worst possible ways." Shirelle's chest felt tight as she listened.

"There was one woman in particular they all took a turn with. She was a priest, and was very pretty, or at least she had been before they were through with her. " The draenei tightened her grip on the dagger in her palm. She started to dig it into the floor, and when she spoke again her voice shook.

"They killed her. They killed her with the violence with which they were raping her, and then they continued beating her body afterward, as if they were angry that she had died on them during their fun. We were kept trapped under an anti-magic shell, and we could do nothing but watch, and try not to hear her screams." She stabbed the dagger down hard, and stuck it into the wood.

"Several days later, the Scarlets got what they wanted. The Lich King himself ordered the attack on their camp, slaughtering both Scarlets and mercenaries alike. The Valkyrs lined all the prisoners up and one by one, deemed us either worthy to be turned or just slaughtered. I watched five of my fellow captives killed, before I snapped. I don't know how many I killed before they took me down, but the next memory I had was waking up like this."

Maerciless lifted her cold blue eyes to Shirelle's, and they burned with the pain of her memories. She got up and walked over to the bed, where Shirelle sat frozen and shivering.

"I had no will of my own, but I channeled my pain and rage into my new role. I took a new name, Maerciless, and was a champion of the Lich King. When I was freed, I tried to come back, but Aeschlie could no longer reconcile what I had become with who I used to be. She finds me abhorrent," She glanced to the side. "She cannot help it: a paladin is taught to hate the undead. I am the manifestation of everything she has been fighting against. I can't seem to abandon her though. So I stay on, fighting for the Alliance instead of the Lich King, trying to find some way to redeem what I have done, what I have seen. "

Maerciless's crystal blue eyes bore into Shirelle's. She found herself holding her breath as she was drawn into them again. "I know what it's like to be violated in the worst way. No one asked if I was alright. No one held me as I screamed and sobbed and bled. No one protected me, or made sure I was safe afterward. I was shattered into nothing. I don't want to see anyone else broken in that way again."

Tears streamed down Shirelle's face, but she didn't bother wiping them off. Words spilled out of her mouth.

"I...I've always wanted to be a healer. I have always been too anxious to be very good, but they say a priest will become more powerful the longer she retains her purity. I don't know if that's true, but I've held on to it, in hopes that I will be better. Tonight, it was nearly stolen from me, and I was too scared to stop it. Too scared to do anything but let it happen. I don't deserve to be protected." She burst into painful tears. After a moment the Death Knight sat beside her on the bed, and pulled the priest into her arms. Shirelle sobbed unabashedly into her shoulder while she held her tight.

"Everyone deserves to be protected," she whispered in her soft husky voice. Shirelle cried until she had no tears left and her entire body ached even more than before. The shoulder of the other draenei's shirt was soaked, but she didn't say a word as she retrieved the priest's satchel from the floor and handed her the pain tonic. Shirelle obediently took a drink of it and lay her head down on the bed without bothering to remove her shoes or even lay correctly on the pillow. Almost immediately the potion made her drowsy, and she was vaguely aware of the Death Knight pulling her hair loose from its braids as she felt her whole body relax. A thought had been niggling in the back of her mind, and she asked it before she went completely to sleep.

"What was your name before?" Shirelle had almost lost consciousness before she heard a low answer to her question.

"Allendrelle."


	2. Chapter 2

The trade district of Stormwind was a bustling throng of people as usual, despite the chill wind in the air. The threat of full winter was on everyone's mind as they hurried to their errands. Concerned eyes glanced to the ominous looking clouds clustered over the harbour. Even the vendors looked anxious; their shouts to hock their wares seemed half-hearted, and many were already packing up or securing their booths against the incoming storm. One lone draenei death knight perused the stalls flanking the side of the street. The crowd parted automatically at her approach, but she took no notice. People standing near her felt the temperature drop an immeasurable amount, and shivering, moved aside. As such, she was not hassled by vendors or passersby, and she preferred it that way. Her thick cloak did little to conceal her battle-worn pitch black armor: it was more of pretense, really. She seldom needed to cover herself from the elements anymore. Her ears caught the faint sound of whispers behind her as she perused a fruit vendor's cart. Stealthily, she turned her ice-blue eyes to the sound as she reached for an apple. Two human adolescents, priests-in-training from the look of their robes, stared at her from behind the corner of a booth. Her lips curved in a half-smile by way of greeting, and both of their eyes grew big. The taller one ducked back down behind the booth before taking off in the opposite direction, but the shorter one met her gaze, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. She shyly waved at the death knight, then turned and dashed off down the street after her friend. Maerciless smiled slightly to herself as she placed the apple back in the vendor's bin. The child's shy curiosity was a reflection of another priest she knew. Finished with her shopping, she turned and headed north out of the trade district just as the first few snowflakes began to fall.

Her hooves clicked on the wet pavement softly as she made her way home. Out of habit, her ears tuned into the sounds around her; the slap of water against the sides of the canal, the wind whistling through torn awnings that adorned the sparse shops lining the water. A few people hurrying home before the snow got too deep. The almost silent clink of her own armor as she turned down a narrow street. Rows of doors set in houses crowded so close together they seemed to be suffocating adorned this neighborhood. It was a strange location: it was set slightly apart from the canal, and yet it wasn't quite in the cathedral gardens. It gave the appearance of a street that didn't fit in exactly with the other neat lines and architecture of the city. The decorations visible in the windows of the various apartments revealed the diversity of the residents therein: night elf lanterns strung on a rope beside wash on a clothesline, crystals hung over doorframes to purify the air, even a mismatch of tools and cogs lay forgotten on the windowsill. This neighborhood was a catch-all of various races and professions. It was easy to be anonymous here.

The draenei turned the key into a door that was completely devoid of adornment and stepped inside. The main living area was a better reflection of the inhabitants. Although mostly clean and well-kept, little details scattered at the edges; sharpening stones and beeswax for bow strings were shoved onto a side desk, while stacks of books, papers, and quills were piled onto the coffee table. Maerciless pushed aside a well-worn mortar and pestle and set the market basket on the counter next to the sink. She methodically put away the groceries, snagging a golden apple and biting into it as she made her way back to the living room. Its flesh was firm and juicy, but like all food, fell flat on her tongue. Taste, and a desire to enjoy food, was one of the many casualties of the change wrought on her in Northrend. The cold emptiness that burned inside of her was not hunger, at least not a kind that could be quelled by a hot meal. Her piercing eyes closed briefly in memory.

_She was an instrument of destruction, of death. She belonged to him, mind, body, soul, and what was left of her heart. His presence was a cancer that burrowed into her, flooding every thought or feeling she had with his will. He was always silently behind her, his icy lips whispering into her ear: too quiet for her to make out the words, yet impossible to ignore or resist. She had no desire to resist though, she only wanted to please him. No, want was too weak: there existed nothing but him, and she __willingly gave her life to him every morning when she woke. His touch on her mind was as intimate and personal as a lover's, and inside her now existed nothing but the icy hollow that remained when his dominion was forcibly ripped from her body. _

Maerciless shook her head a bit as she resurfaced from the memory. Thinking of her time in Northrend left her feeling empty, like an addict pining for his drug of choice. She glanced down in disgust at the half-eaten apple in her hand, and tossed it into the trash before dropping down on the worn couch. She picked up the pile of mail and rifled through it. Two official looking letters lay on top, with the seal of the Stormwind Military. One was addressed to her, the other to Aeschlie. Nothing for the hunters. Frowning a little, she ripped the envelope and read the thick paper within It seemed the military was heading out to the newly discovered continent in the southern hemisphere, and she had a personal summons from Admiral Taylor to be a part of the landing crew. She brushed her thumb against the letter thoughtfully. She was unofficially retired from the military. She, along with the other members of the Ebon Hold, had been instrumental in bringing down the Lich King _(master)_ and she had been repaid with a certain amount of freedom. If she was being personally sent a letter, this must be a very important operation. She glanced down at the other letter. Aeschlie, on the other hand...she was still very much at the beck and call of the army. And if they were mobilizing to send an expedition to this new continent, she would surely be sent with them.

She stood and entered her sparse room in the apartment, dropping the letter on the bare dresser. Automatically she returned her things to their place: her cloak to the hook behind the door, outer armor to its rack, weapons to their holders. Within moments, her room was back to its immaculate appearance. She sat down lightly on the bed and glanced around the room. There was no visible trace of the unexpected chaos from a few weeks ago. The priest had stayed for five days, until that filth that assaulted her had been locked in jail. She had been an incredibly messy roommate, at least to the death knight's standards: quills and papers all over the dresser, clothes piled on the floor, the bed constantly in disarray. After the first night, they had hardly seen each other: Shirelle worked the night shift at the Stormwind Infirmary, and Maerciless dutifully slept on the couch for that time. The last evening though, Maerciless had returned to the apartment from an errand to find her carefully cleaning up and packing her things.

* * *

Maerciless leaned against the doorway with a faint smirk on her face, watching Shirelle half under the bed, dragging out errant items.

"I can help," she called, trying to keep the amusement out of her low voice. Shirelle gave a tiny shriek and bumped her head against the underside of the bed. She backed out carefully, rubbing the back of her head, clutching a scarf.

"No, I don't mind," she said, leaning back on her hooves and offering a timid smile. "You've put up with my disorganization for days, I can at least clean up before I leave." Her silver eyes met hers for only the briefest of moments before she added the scarf to a growing pile of clothes and she bent to retrieve more things. The priest had gotten more at ease around her in the past few days, but it was obvious her presence unnerved her still. All the amusement dropped from the death knight's face, and her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword as she stared darkly at a random spot on the wall. Reminders what she had become, when unexpected, still stung. The cold air that surrounded her, as well as her ability to intimidate with one intense look were, like her inability to taste or enjoy food, a souvenir of her time in Northrend. It made her military operations easy. It made existing comfortably with the living damn near impossible.

"Am...am I doing everything alright?"

Maerciless was started from her revelry by the quietest of questions. Shirelle stood by the bed, holding tightly to a wrinkled shirt. She bit her lip and stared at the floor under the death knight's steady gaze.

"You looked unhappy. I-I don't mean to bother you. I just wanted to help after you'd been so kind to me..." The priest's voice trailed off.

Maerciless instantly felt a pang of guilt. She approached the priest, gently taking the shirt out of her hand. She tried to compose the features of her face be as non-threatening as possible.

"You're doing fine. Here, I'll help you," she said, keeping her husky voice soft. The other draenei only nodded, but her eyes met hers with less fear. Together they tidied the small room, speaking little, until Shirelle's things were neatly packed in her bags and the room was nearly to Maerciless's standards. The space between them grew awkward as they both ran out of things to do. Finally, Shirelle hoisted her bags over her shoulder and turned to the death knight.

"Thank you again for watching out for me the last few days, and for...saving me the first time." Shirelle swallowed hard. The outer bruises had healed, but the inner damage was going to leave a scar. Maerciless started to brush it off, citing her duty to help others, when the death knight felt something being pressed into her gloved hands. It was a tiny devotional prayer book. Maerciless looked up at Shirelle in surprise. The priest had a slight flush to her cheeks but otherwise held her gaze steady on hers.

"You have a good heart. I don't care what other people might say about you, or what you say you've done." She nodded to the slightly worn book in Maerciless's hands shyly. "I don't have much to offer you in repayment, but maybe my prayer book will help you remember the good in the world."

Without another word, she scurried out of the room, perhaps nervous she had said too much. Maerciless stood there a long time, staring at the place where she had been standing, then finally she sat down in the room filled with emptiness and opened the book.

* * *

Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out the small devotional and ran her fingers along the leather strap holding it closed. It was mostly blank, instead meant to be filled with personal prayers. There were a few notations in Shirelle's looping handwriting, mostly passages on peace, and the pursuit of purity. In the days since her departure, when the solitude of her room was too loud on her ears, she would pull out the book and carefully thumb through the pages. Sometimes she would just hold it and look at it. She wasn't exactly sure of the priest's purpose in giving her the book, but if nothing else, she appreciated her gratitude. Now, she held it as an anchor for her thoughts as she contemplated her choices.

At one time, the battlefield exhilarated her. Now each time her duty brought her into combat, she grew more weary at the deathtoll: her hands were bloody enough. But it was difficult to find enough to do to focus her mind: an idle mind was one beleaguered with memories. Memories she would rather remain hidden and crammed into the empty space inside her. She needed something to keep her occupied. And then there was Aeschlie to think about. The paladin would surely be shipping out soon, although not likely in the first wave. Maerciless's grip on the book tightened. Aeschlie may not want her around, but she had promised to watch out for her, back when she still had a soul and promises meant something. She shoved it back under her pillow. Now was the time to put away thoughts of the quiet priest and focus on her duty.

She stood and pulled the dark curtain back from the tiny window high above the bed. Darkness was already rushing in, blowing and scattering snowflakes before it as it overtook the tucked away residential area. She pressed her other hand carefully to the glass: even through her thick leather gloves, she could feel the chill of the night. A normal person might shiver, withdraw their hand, and wrap up in a blanket. Instead she held her hand there, feeling the numbing cold seeping into her gloves, into her bones, permeating and blending with the ice already running through her veins. Her fingers began to ache, but she held them one minute more, pushing her comfort level. It was that reckless, daring feeling that pushed her into battle every time: the feeling she was tempting fate. Finally, she dropped her hand, shaking the numbness out of it. When you no longer fear death, you feel nearly invincible. Without bothering to change, she laid down on the bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. In the darkest crevices of her mind, she knew it was the "nearly" that drove her to play chicken with death: she knew one day she would lose, and she would be free.

She closed her eyes against that thought. Tomorrow she would go down to the harbour and talk to the commanding officer and see when Aeschlie was going to be deployed, and arrange to be in that company. She would do her duty until that time.

* * *

Shirelle collapsed wearily onto a pallet of grain sacks. After days of packing and loading medical supplies and provisions, they were almost done. She was to report to the ship at 0500 in two days. She had spent all morning going through the remaining crates of bandages on the dock with the other low rank healers, doing a final check for moths and mouse nests. Shirelle rubbed her arms through the thin sleeves of her wool robe. She would definitely be sore tomorrow from lifting crate after crate after crate.

"Are you getting nervous about shipping out?" Elluriel, a cheerful shaman that occasionally did shifts at the hospital with her, settled herself cross-legged beside her and handed her a flask of water. Shirelle accepted it and drank gratefully. She did not wait for the priest's reply, and kept on talking animatedly, her pigtails bobbing in the wind off the harbour.

"I can't wait! I mean, yes, I'm a little nervous as well, but how exciting is it to be the first ones on a new land? Can you imagine, existing this long on a planet and never knowing there was an entire continent south of you, waiting to be discovered? We're so lucky to get to go out in the first wave. This is my first deployment, how about you?"

Shirelle smiled at the draenei's enthusiasm, but her stomach started doing flip-flops at the mention of leaving harbour. She wasn't just nervous about deploying: she was terrified. She had been practicing her defensive spells since the incident at the hospital _(that you were saved from, you ninny)_ but the fear that had immobilized her was still on her mind. She had no idea how she'd react in a fight, and she already had one mark against her. She tried to tune back into what Elluriel was talking about. She had not waited for her to join the conversation, of course, and had moved onto the care she was taking to pack her totems. A cold wind gusted around them, and Shirelle pulled her cloak tighter against her. The shaman suddenly shifted position, and leaned in to talk quietly.

"I hope she's not in our company. I hear she tortures the underlings who get out of line." She glanced up and nodded at the temporary command post erected in the center of the dock. The knot that had started to form in the pit of Shirelle's stomach at the mention of deploying turned into ice: there, talking casually with one of the commanding officers, was a figure in black armor that had grown familiar to her. The commander seemed to know the death knight well, and they appeared to be talking tactics as they left the tent and started a stroll down the bustling port.

"She's not right, you know..." the shaman leaned forward conspiratorially and tapped her own head. "Ever since Northrend. They say she can't feel anymore, she only knows how to kill." The draenei leaned back against the pallet lazily. "I know if it were me like that I'd throw myself off the first cliff I could find. Who would want to live like that, really?"

Shirelle's cheeks flamed in anger and her posture was stiff as she thrust the drinking flask back at Elluriel. "That's not fair at all. You have no idea what she's living for, and you have no idea what she's been through!"

Gathering her cloak around her, she stomped away from the shaman, who was staring at her with her mouth open. The wind gusted around her, knocking her off-balance, and she pulled her hood up against it. Across the dock she reached a large pile of crates and leaned against them out of the wind. Angrily she bit her lip and blinked tears back from her eyes. She was not going to cry now. Not when she was going to war in two days. Elluriel was just, vapid. She didn't think any further than herself. Shirelle sighed and rubbed her hand over her wet cheeks. The shaman simply reflected what everyone else thought either way. The death knights serving in the Stormwind Military were not very respected by the living, although none had built a reputation around them like Maerciless had. Powerful, cold, and intimidating, they were kept for the elite missions in the army, but no one liked traveling with them. Images came to her mind: Maerciless taking care of her roommate, when it was clear the paladin wanted nothing to do with her. Carefully unbraiding her hair with cold fingers so she could sleep. The surprised look on her face when she had given her the old prayer book. Shirelle straightened her shoulders and prepared to get back to work packing. No, it was clear that some death knights, at least, were misunderstood.

As she stepped out from the shelter of the crates, she felt the temperature drop around her and she shivered. She would never get used to the chill of this planet. Staring at her hooves and lost in thought, she ran right into the small group walking down the length of the dock. Two black leather gloves grasped her shoulders as she stumbled, and she stuttered out an apology as she looked up to see who she had nearly trampled. Two piercing blue eyes locked onto her silver ones. She found herself staring into the face of the very person she had been thinking of, who looked just as surprised as she felt. Commander Teegan cleared his throat pointedly. Shirelle took two steps back, blushing furiously.

"Sorry, sir, " she squeaked.

"How is the loading of the medical supplies going, Healer..." he squinted at the nameplate around her neck. Shirelle cleared her throat.

"Shirelle, sir. We're almost done, sir, we should be done by this evening." She stood nervously at attention, trying to not glance at the cold figure beside him.

"Then you'd best get to it. Dismissed." he nodded in her direction, then turned to speak to Maerciless. She rushed off to join the other healers, not looking back. She didn't have to: she could feel the death knight's eyes burning into her back as she ran.


	3. Chapter 3

_Snowflakes swirling around a cold wasteland. Powder crunching under her hooves, the sound snatched up and carried away by the biting wind. It whistled past her nearly frozen ears, unprotected by a helm or hat. Her purpose and her master filled her, warmed her, carried her forward. Splotches of bright crimson began to mar the white ground in front of her as she continued on. She did not smile. She did not smirk. She was immune to such shows of self-indulgence or pleasure. She was as cold as the arctic atmosphere surrounding her. Droplets turned to smudged and bloody indentions in the snow. She did not have far to go now. The enemy soldier was gravely wounded, and incapable of escaping her for long. Ahead of her was a large boulder mostly covered by a soft drift of snow. There. _

_She lifted her massive sword into position as she rounded the corner. There huddled the enemy soldier. A ragged wound in her side oozed red onto the pristine white. Her polished silver armor, while symbolic, left gaping holes in practicality. Her mace lay on the ground beside her, useless in her weakened grasp. She did not wait for her to gather her defenses. She kicked the soldier over to her back, who cried out but otherwise did not fight. She raised her runeblade, and in one smooth movement, parted the soldier's head from her body. _

_Crimson leaked onto the ground like a flood. She felt nothing. Another kill for the master. Before she turned to go, something drew her glance to the lifeless head still warming the snow beneath it. Light blue eyes stared back at her, still partially covered by hair the colour of pearls. Graceful horns swept back from her forehead. _

_Aeschlie. _

_Her emotions and own thoughts slammed back into her body. She dropped her runeblade in horror and stumbled backwards, bile rising in her throat. What had she done?_

_She turned her head, sweeping the landscape. Why was there no one else here? Where were the other soldiers? She searched vainly for help, even as she knew there was nothing to be done: the cut was precise, and left no options for revival. Her breath choked her as she turned in a circle, and finally in despair, fell to her knees before her best friend's body. Lifting eyes that would no longer shed tears, she reached to close the other draenei's eyes, and smooth her hair down. She deserved that much dignity. _

_She froze. Where short pale hair used to brush against the tops of her shoulders, tangled black hair was falling out of the pins that held it into knots on the side of her head. The lifeless staring eyes gleamed silver instead of sky blue. The lines of her face were timid, not bold. _

_Shirelle. _

Maerciless sat up sharply in her cot. A sheen of sweat covered her skin. Blinking her piercing blue eyes, she surveyed the interior of her small tent. Only the orderly stacks of her personal armor and supplies. The night continued quietly by, disturbed only by the sounds of jungle birds and foreign nocturnal animals. For a moment, the canvas walls of the tent billowed inward, constricting her breath. Good enough time to make a round of camp. She pulled on her outer armor pieces and strapped her sword on. Quietly she strode out of the tent, her armor making a soft chink sound as she walked. Outside the air was cooler, and easier to breathe. A slight wind ruffled the tangled curls on top of her head, and she absent-mindedly ran her hand through them as she headed to the front entrance of camp. She nodded to the two soldiers stationed there, and they stepped back a little too far, giving her a wide berth to pass. She noticed, of course. The chill of the grave followed her everywhere, but she assumed it was easier to be taken aback by it in the warmth of this land.

Her ears and eyes automatically tuned into the unfamiliar environment as she paced a wide perimeter from the border of the camp. The methodical process soothed her harried mind, and she began to remember snatches of her dream. Every night. Every night since she had stepped on the ship leaving harbour, no matter how much she had thrown herself into the minutiae of daily army life, she had been plagued by nightmares. She rubbed her hand over her eyes wearily. Dealing with the horrors of her past was simply a part of who she was anymore, but they were erupting out of her mind like a body clearing itself of toxins. She shoved a leafy branch out of her way in irritation: she was closing in on the verge of being overwhelmed. A masked animal hissed at her before scurrying off into the underbrush indignantly. Her ice-blue eyes followed it for a distance, before drifting unconsciously to the large tent in the middle of the camp. The large, crudely painted red crosses on the sides identified it as the hastily set up med center. Inside, a pile of healers and their superiors slept in shifts, watching over the sick and injured. Somewhere among them, her reason for being here in this foreign land.

An unusually large moth fluttered into view, and in an abrupt moment of rage, her sword was unsheathed, and the creature was cleaved in two. She stared at its twitching remains a moment, breathing hard, her runeblade still in hand. Creating much more noise than usual, she turned and hurried through the rest of her patrol, cold frustration seeping into her every movement. _What was she even doing here? _ When she was set free from the Lich King's embrace, her only desire was to return to Aeschlie and keep her safe, whether the paladin wanted her to or not. And yet...and yet here she was, in a completely different company than her roommate, across the jungle from the person that had formed her entire purpose for existing.

The death knight had come full circle to the entrance to camp, but her mind was still in turmoil and she delayed returning to its relative safety. She squatted down and leaned her back against an unfamiliar tree, making scratch marks in the bare earth around it with her dagger. She had approached the dock that fateful morning with the full intention of coaxing the landing tactics out of Commander Teegan, figuring out where Aeschlie was to be stationed, and making sure she was with that company. She and the commander had served together before, and he was one of the few men comfortable around her and the other Death Knights. The unexpected arrival of Shirelle had thrown her entire plan out the window: the thought of the shy priest serving in the first wave of battle was something she never would have imagined, and her reaction was immediate. Her first thought was to protect her, and it wasn't until she had returned to the apartment to start packing her meager possessions that she realized what she had done.

* * *

Maerciless strode into the apartment quickly, bringing the winter air in with her. Her thoughts were pre-occupied as she went straight to her room and pulled out her military pack. Supplies, changes of underclothes, weapons, and sharpening stones were tossed to a pile on her bed as she made plans in her head. She wrinkled her nose at the dust on her flask and tin dishes, and scooping them into her arms, she headed to the kitchen to wash them before packing. She was so intent on her purpose that when she rounded the corner to the kitchen, she pulled up short, nearly dropping her plate. She gaped open mouthed at the paladin meticulously cleaning her alchemy tools to pack them away. The small table held her own dishes and gear, stacked together with her letter of deployment. Aeschlie glanced up, and seeing Maerciless staring at her, turned back to what she was doing with her mouth set in a line.

"Packing as well I see." The draenei's voice dripped with irritation. "The kitchen is occupied. You'll have to use the bathroom sink."

_Damn._ She couldn't believe it: she had forgotten all about Aeschlie at the harbour! She was so shocked with her slip of thought she stood there and continued to stare, awkwardly holding her gear.

"What company are you with?" she asked presently. Maybe, with some throwing of rank, she could still re-arrange things...Her thoughts were cut off as Aeschlie slammed the scrub brush down in the sink, splashing water onto the counter.

"You cannot keep following me into battle, M-Maerciless!" In her indignation, the paladin stumbled over her new name. She turned around to look her in the face, her light blue eyes blazing.

"I will be with the other paladins. _Where I belong_." She emphasized each word of the last sentence. Maerciless was held captive by her ire, and simply stood there listening. She searched her eyes for any hint of the strings that used to bind them together. It was possible the other draenei was doing the same thing, for she averted her eyes before continuing.

"You are not to follow me. I don't need your protection, and you are not the person I once knew." The words were harsh, but Aeschlie still addressed the table, and not her eyes. It tugged on her heart painfully. Usually at those words Maerciless would feel her insides curl up, and her self-hatred grow, until she was apologizing for everything that she could not have prevented. But today, there was something new inside of her: a seed of warmth buried inside her cold chest. She held onto it, and her heart steeled itself against the abuse and she did not cower down.

"I am not following you. I don't need your approval for my life. You are fully capable of taking care of yourself." The words seemed to flow of their own accord, from the new, solid place inside of her. Her outer demeanor was calm, but inside her brain was panicking. It was the paladin's turn to stare now. Her eyes, usually a hard pane of glass when speaking to her, cracked slightly, revealing a hurt, vulnerable core.

"...what?"

Maerciless felt that familiar nudge inside of her: to dance on the edge of the flame. She embraced it and pressed on even as part of her heart cried out desperately for her former partner. She looked the pale draenei straight in the face.

"I am not following you. I will be departing with the first wave, and I don't know where you will be. I will focus on my own mission."

The pane of glass cracked more. It took everything Maerciless had not to drop her gear right there on the ground and draw the paladin into her arms. She set her mouth firmly. Aeschlie did not want her as her savior. And she had to finish what she started.

"There are others who need my protection as well."

In truth, she had been thinking of the entirety of the military unit she had signed up for, not anyone in particular. But she realized her grave error instantly as Aeschlie eyes hardened over again, and her entire posture snapped into a straight line.

"She doesn't want you either, Maerciless."

More than anything else said that day, the words stabbed her in the stomach. She found herself shaking her head in denial before she found her ability to speak. "This isn't about her."

Aeschlie drew herself up as one endowed with the full power of the Light could. Only the tears flowing freely down her cheeks marred her facade.

"She is a weak, low-ranking priest. She clings to you because she can't take care of herself. You are nothing to her but hired muscle. She will use you as she would a dog, and then when she is able to stand alone, she will discard you. You are not a person anymore. And you won't ever be again."

The biting words were meant to cut deep, and cut they did. However, instead of the pain overwhelming her, as it usually did, she felt it harden inside of her, a scorching bitterness framed by rage. One hand dropped to the hilt of her sword and flexed. Her grip tightened on the edge of a plate as she made herself set the gear down on the table. When she released it, she could still see the indention of her fingers. Aeschlie must have seen it too, for her hand dropped down to her own weapon at her belt, and she took one step back into a defensive stance.

Inside her, the cold winds of Northrend filled her ears as the hole in her heart threatened to overtake her mind. She gritted her teeth against it: the thing that she had become under the Lich King screamed inside of her and begged to unleash its fury. It reminded her of all the suffering she had gone through to get to this place. It whispered of how much she gave every day to redeem herself in the eyes of the most important person in her life, and how that person was throwing it back in her face. Her grip tightened on her sword. Why fight the anger, the cold, when it had always been there for her? Why change when clearly, it was not enough? Why not strike back?

…_..vengeance... _

"No."

She shook her head and dropped her hand from her runeblade. She took in a breathe and exhaled her hatred. When she looked up at the paladin, her eyes held only cold control.

"You can't make me into a monster, Aeschlie." Her low voice was quiet but filled the entire room. "I am not your personal demon."

Aeschlie's face twisted as she felt her defeat. She turned and grabbed the first thing she could from the counter: a glass vial. A hitching sob burst out of her throat as she hurled it with all her force at Maerciless. The death knight backed away, holding up an arm to shield her face. The vial shattered on the wall behind her, followed closely by a second. Maerciless continued to retreat, avoiding the projectiles as she felt behind her for the door.

"You are dead to me, Allendrelle!" The mangled scream was punctuated by another crash, this time on the floor near her hooves. Deftly she sidestepped it and slipped out the door, shutting it fast behind her. She listened at the door, fearing the paladin would pursue her and she would have to restrain her. After a few moments, the only sound seeping from the thin walls of the apartment was painful sobs. Maerciless closed her eyes briefly, leaning her forehead against the door. Finally she turned, and pulling her hood up against the wind (and the eyes peeping from random windows) she strode out of the small neighborhood without looking back.

* * *

The argument had reverberated in Maerciless's head the entire journey to the new continent. The warm feeling that had risen inside of her against the onslaught of Aeschlie's words seemed to shrink back down within her, and even more than usual, she spent the entirety of the trip avoiding the other soldiers and listening to the winds howl inside her empty soul. She had been curt and icy with everyone, performing her duty and keeping everyone on task, but it was automatic. Internally, it seemed the control she had taken for granted was slipping. Her heart felt half-finished, and she had wandered nightly both in her mind and around the ship, chafing against the raw feeling. Landfall and the change in routine had brought no relief. The landing itself had gone awry, and for a short time she was busy merely keeping herself and the company alive and accounted for. After forging an alliance with the Jinyu, and the establishment of their current base, it seemed nothing could occupy her mind enough to keep from torturing herself with the argument and its aftermath. She had returned to the apartment once more, to retrieve her things. Aeschlie had already left. There was only a small indention in the wall of the kitchen as evidence to the anguish unleashed there. Maerciless had taken everything with her when she left. She did not expect to be welcomed back in that house of memories.

And now she was here, surrounded by allies and alone on this strange continent. She felt lost and adrift, and unsure of her purpose. Not knowing where Aeschlie was bothered her more than she wanted to admit. Although she served her role in the company faithfully, they were all blank faces, and failed to fill her with meaning even close to what she had before her time in Northrend.

All except one.

Maerciless looked once more to the healers' tent. Shirelle had been more than busy since Landfall, thrust into the battlefield with little time to prepare. Although the priest's fear was obvious, she had pushed it aside and fought bravely, shielding those around her and healing the injured. The two had been absorbed in completely different tasks and had scarcely interacted more than a nod. But in the back of her mind, Maerciless always knew where she was.

As if somehow sensing the death knight's thoughts, a familiar figure appeared at the entrance of the main tent. Shirelle was struggling to drag a barrel of water to the edge of camp, presumably to dump the dirty water. Maerciless was on her feet before she even thought of the action. Her footsteps brought her into the encampment and towards the struggling priest. Her heart and mind were both in a turmoil, and what she wanted more than anything was peace. She had no intention of baring her soul, but just being near the other draenei's quiet demeanor might bring her some solace.

* * *

Shirelle gave the barrel one final tug and dropped her arms. That was as far as it got. She was not that strong, and the ground was damp where other barrels had been emptied. Wiping sweat off her forehead with her sleeve, she looked around the camp. She had barely left the med center for days as she and the other healers were working hard healing the injured soldiers and getting them ready to go back out in the field. Healing on the battlefield was infinitely more exhausting than working in the hospital. Instead of allowing patients time to rest and recover, there was a constant rush to hurry and be back in top form. Shortcuts were taken, tonics were used liberally, and the healers seemed to never sleep. Shirelle shoved errant strands of hair out of her face. How long had it been since she bathed? A slight breeze cooled her face, and she closed her eyes briefly, taking in the small amount of peace it afforded her. Momentarily rejuvenated, she took a deep breath, and yanked on the handle of the barrel again. All she got for her efforts was a graceless landing in the mud as her boots slipped out from under her.

Footsteps squelched in the mud beside her, and she wearily turned her head to see who had witnessed her shame. She had barely taken in the worn black armor as a black gloved hand reached down. She was momentarily startled, but took the proffered hand and let herself be pulled up. Perhaps it was the weeks of battle and hard living, or maybe just the exhaustion seeping into her bones, but she met the death knight's piercing gaze with no hesitation. What she saw surprised her. The draenei looked horrible. Her face held its usual cold mask, but very near the surface was a storm of misery. Her hair was even wilder than ever, and even her gaze seemed unsettled and distant. Shirelle knew the death knight was no stranger to battle; she sensed something else, something deeper and more painful was amiss. Something that her medical skills could not touch.

Maerciless did not speak, but she did not leave after helping the priest up. Together they drug the barrel to the edge of the barbed wire and dumped it, then rolled it back to the medical tent. After stacking it next to two other empty ones, Shirelle tried to shake the mud off the back of her robe, even though she knew it was a fruitless effort. She smiled half-heartedly at the other draenei.

"I need to change out of this really quick. I'll be right back?" She turned the sentence up into a question, verifying that the death knight had been searching for her, rather than simple happenstance. Maerciless nodded in her usual curt manner, and Shirelle ducked into the tent. As quickly as possible, she pulled her robe off and tossed it into soiled hamper, and donned a clean one. She rubbed a wet cloth over her face, and on a whim, she grabbed a brush, and as her hooves quickly took her back to the side entrance, she unpinned her hair into black waves and set to untangling it. She could at least try not to look as if she had been on her feet working for days.

The death knight was still standing in the shadow of the doorway. She glanced up at Shirelle as she approached, and in the sparse light given off by the lanterns, the shadows under her eyes and cheekbones was enhanced. The exhaustion and mental anguish was so prominent on the death knight's face that Shirelle was momentarily taken aback. If the other draenei noticed her concern she did not show it. The two walked in silence for a few moments, around the perimeter of the temporary infirmary and between the tents occupied by regular soldiers. Shirelle twisted her hair through her fingers, trying to think of some way to draw Maerciless into telling her what was wrong. Eventually she just did what she did best: she opened her mouth and honesty fell out.

"You must be pretty busy keeping things going here, I have hardly seen you since we left port."

The death knight looked startled, as if she were not expecting her to speak, or if she had been so lost in her thoughts she had forgotten her presence. Shirelle continued talking.

"Of course, you must be used to all this. You're the war hero. I don't really know what I'm doing."

For the first time, an answer came back in the death knight's husky voice. "This must be overwhelming for you."

Shirelle nodded, sitting down on a row of empty supply crate. After a moment's hesitation, Maerciless sat beside her, careful not to sit too close.

"I've been doing my duty alright, I guess. I'm learning how to protect myself and others on the fly. I have less fear every day. " Shirelle took a breathe, and let it out. Enough with small talk.

"You know you startled me that day at the harbour, before we left. The way you had spoken before, I didn't expect to see you anywhere near a battlefield again." Shirelle steeled herself against a sharp reply. "What changed your mind?"

The reply came, but it was not sharp. There was a certain flat quality to Maerciless's low voice that set off warning bells in her head. The death knight gazed at something intently across the encampment. "I came down to the harbour that day to follow Aeschlie to Pandaria. I have no other purpose but to keep her safe."

The death knight paused so long Shirelle almost interjected a question. "But I signed up in this company instead. When I returned to the apartment and told Aeschlie, she was enraged. Even though she hated me following her, the thought of me going somewhere else made her very angry. We fought. She said..." here the death knight dropped her eyes and stumbled. It was only for a moment, but Shirelle could feel her pain at the confession. "She said hateful things. And then I left."

The death knight withdrew her dagger and began turning it back and forth in her hands. Her low voice was quietly intense when she spoke. "She was my reason for returning after Northrend. She is the only reason I still exist. Even though she hates what I am. And I just walked out. I have nothing left now."

Shirelle swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. "Why did you join this company instead of hers? I mean, with your rank, I would think you could have the pick of where you wanted to be."

Maerciless's hands stilled on the dagger. "When I saw you on the dock with the other soldiers, there was only one choice. I wrote my name down and left to pack my things."

She lifted her eyes to the priest, and they blazed brilliant blue. "I knew you needed my protection more."

The death knight dropped her gaze. "It was foolish of me. You don't need me anymore than Aeschlie did. No one does." The death knight stood slowly. "I'm tired of fighting. I don't think I'm going to return to Stormwind after we're done here. "

"Where will you go?"

The look in the death knight's eyes frightened Shirelle. Her eyes, usually so vibrant and filled with life, were a flat dead stare. It was pain that was so ingrained there was no release. She shook her head at Shirelle's question.

"Nowhere."

Without another word, the death knight turned and trekked across the bare earth to her small tent set away from the soldiers'. Shirelle sat on the crate for a long time, twisting her hair and feeling nauseous from the sudden icy pit in her stomach.

* * *

The next two weeks seemed to fly by. The officers were busy training the Jinyu recruits, and tensions between the Horde and Alliance were like a thick fog in the air. Maerciless performed her duties dully and with no emotion. It seemed that she had finally transcended the ability to feel pain, once it was all she had left. Her mind felt numb. Every now and then, she caught a pair of silver eyes peering at her from the med center tent, but she didn't approach the other draenei again. Even confessing to her, which by all logic should have eased her mind, just seemed to solidify the uselessness of her existence.

When the report came in that the Horde was congregating at the Jade Serpent Shrine and for all troops to mobilize, she was surprised to feel a surge of motivation. While patrolling the soldiers assembling in units, she found energy in her step she hadn't had in weeks. As she stood with the other officers in their short briefing, she found her attention wandering to the crowd of healers organizing supplies and falling into step with their commanding officer. She allowed herself an indulgent moment to watch Shirelle as she stood off to the side, practicing casting a holy shield around herself. The death knight's lips curved in a half-smile that felt completely out of place with the rest of her masked face. As soon as she was dismissed to join her unit, she strode quickly to the other draenei. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to speak to her once more before they left for battle. The quiet priest's eyes widened as she approached, and she immediately stepped out of line to follow her. In the chaos of mobilization, they were not missed as they stepped around the corner of a pile of crates.

"What's wrong?" Shirelle's face was fearful. Maerciless caught herself wanting to touch her cheek in reassurance, and clenched her fist. Instead she spoke what her heart told her to.

"I was watching you practice out there. Your casting has improved greatly since we first landed. You shouldn't worry about meeting the Horde in the field later."

The other draenei shook her head in confusion, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Maerciless wasn't done yet.

"You don't need me to protect you out there. You'll do a fine job yourself." Maerciless reached forward and took the other draenei's hand. It trembled slightly as she brought her gloved hands together and held it close to where her soul used to reside. A rosy blush crept up the priest's cheeks, and she bit her lip in embarrassment. Maerciless leaned forward and looked right into her shy eyes.

"You were worth saving."

Squeezing her hand one last time, she reluctantly let her go, and returned to her own unit. As she shouted orders and got everyone on the march, she found it difficult to catch a deep breath. But she kept her eyes on her responsibilities, and her steps were sure as the army moved out of the former base and into the forest.

They reached the shrine before nightfall. There was no hesitation from either side: both the Horde and the Alliance had been itching for a full out fight for over a month, and everyone threw themselves into battle with a fervor. For Maerciless, it was like a climax of release: she fought with a desperate recklessness. She poured every ounce of her pain into the swing of her runesword, and every enemy fell before her with no contest. Still she pushed closer and closer to the middle of the battle, to the worst of it, until she was surrounded by enemies on all sides. She was a force of unrestrained destruction, but enemy soldiers seemed to come without end, and she was starting to feel the burn of muscles and small injuries. As her feet slipped on the wet, red grass and she barely deflected a blow in time, realization dawned in her brain. She wasn't planning on coming back from this one.

The goblin warrior fell at her feet, and she stood for a minute, breathing hard. She was in a rare pocket of calm in the hurricane surrounding her. The death knight closed her eyes and rubbed the sweat and grime from her face. She thought briefly of Shirelle, and the blush in her cheeks when she had left her. Her heart ached for a moment, then she shook her head. No more pain. She would push herself to the edge of that flame and finally be consumed by it. She would be free. With renewed vigor she moved forward again, her teeth bared in a grimace. A massive orc flanked by two stringy hozen came into her focused vision, and her face lit into a wild grin. She knew her muscles were almost spent, and those three looked full of fire. The orc growled fiercely as he swung a mace the size of her entire body over his head. Right when it was about to crush her, she felt a hum of magic surround her, and the mace rebounded back in his face. The force knocked her flat on her back, and she knew that it had been a holy shield that had saved her. It was only good for one blow though, and now her protection was gone.

An ear-splitting crack lit up the battlefield, and the orc was momentarily distracted, turning his head towards the massive statue of the Jade Serpent in the center of the shrine. Maerciless did not pause, and launched herself at the orc with her runeblade poised to strike. The hozen that were with him jumped at her, scrabbling at her arms and legs. All three fell to the ground, until with a mighty shove augmented by her last wave of frost, she threw them both off at once. The orc roared and she lifted her head just in time to see his attack. Locked in place, time slowed as the huge mace swung down towards her. She had no magic left. Her arm could barely lift her sword. She closed her eyes, and the world exploded in black flame and she knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: This is the end of the main story of Mercy. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! In the days/weeks to come I'll be posting some addenda: prologues and flashbacks and whatnot. They all happened previously to chapter one, and some even before Maerciless was turned. Thank you for reading!**

* * *

Shirelle regained consciousness slowly, then all at once. Weeks of living in the jungle with the army caused her to automatically throw a holy shield around herself. Breathing hard, she made herself assess her injuries before opening her eyes. Nothing but a cut on her forehead that was dripping blood down the side of her face. Quickly she healed the cut over, then opened her eyes. The dark explosion that had destroyed the Jade Serpent Shrine had coated everything with a creeping, smokey black substance. Shirelle ran a finger over a tree root, but it didn't smear or wipe off. It was like a poison, leeching into everything it touched. A nearby groan drew her attention away from the environment and she sat up from the dead tree she was leaning against. She frowned at it. The pandaren were meticulous with their gardening, you could not find one dead branch in the whole shrine, let alone an entire tree. Whatever had spewed out of the remains of the statue had killed it instantly.

A growing sense of dread was filling her, and for the first time she took a good look at her surroundings. What remained of the beautiful Jade Serpent Statue was a pile of rubble around a black pit. Her breath caught in her throat as she stood on shaky legs: everything in the shrine was dead. Grass and plants were black and twisted. Plumes of poisonous smoke rose out of the ground. But what had happened to the clashing armies? Squinting, she could barely make out lumps on the ground near the center that appeared to be bodies. Briefly she closed her eyes and tried to remember the last of the battle. It had been a blur, as they usually were: her mind a tumult of fear, reflexes, and just a tiny bit of exhilaration. Although she had been tasked with watching various members of the unit, she had kept a sharp eye on Maerciless the entire time, often wasting one of her precious shields on the death knight instead of keeping it up on herself, as was protocol. But she had lost sight of her right as she noticed cracks appearing in the sides of the statue. She had tried to cry out a warning to the other soldiers, but it had only drawn the attention of a nearby hozen, and she was forced to flee farther into the fray before another soldier had come to the rescue. By then there was no time: the statue was already falling, and she had thrown a shield around herself and ran for the nearby stream, yelling at the soldiers she saw on the way, searching for Maerciless, and finally turning just as she reached the water to see the explosion of black and grey smoke pour out of the base of the shrine. Then nothing.

Securing her medical bag tighter to her, she began to pick her way among the blackened detritus on the ground to the center of the shrine. She began triaging soldiers in her path: there was not much to do. Most were beyond help, and the ones that still lived were already waking up, and required no more than a hand and a direction to evacuate. There didn't appear to be many enemy soldiers left. As she approached the dark pit in the ground, her search grew more urgent as the danger increased. The ground here oozed clouds of malevolent black steam that couldn't decide whether it wanted to be sentient or not: it would coalesce in the semblance of some kind of astral demon, and attack the nearest breathing body. Then just as suddenly, it would spread out into thick vapor. Shirelle refreshed her holy shield with a shiver and tried to stay quiet and unobtrusive. Right as she neared the inner ring of the gardens surrounding the statue, a cloud shimmered in front of her, clearly about to pull itself together to attack. She flung herself backward, tripping over tree roots. She scrabbled against the side of the tree, and finally tucked herself behind the trunk, crouched down and trying to pretend her scared breathing wasn't loud enough to be heard across the battlefield.

It was there, pressed up against the dead tree trunk, nearly frozen in terror and listening intently, that she finally saw the worn black armor and leather gloves she had last seen what seemed a lifetime ago. The death knight was laying partially on her side no more than ten feet in front of her, near the body of a massive green orc. Shirelle's breath caught in her throat at her still form, but the panic served to spur her into motion. Peeking around the edge of the tree, she verified the black and grey vapor had moved on, and dashed the few steps to Maerciless. Carefully she rolled her over, and put her head near her mouth: her breath was shallow, but she was breathing. Biting her cheek and willing her hands not to shake, she pulled at the straps of her armor and tried to assess her wounds. She did not get far before pulling back and gasping. What she had first taken for a large dent in the center of her breastplate was a jagged chunk of jade, obviously from the explosion of the statue. It was embedded right at her sternum, trapping her armor. Dark blood seeped out around the edges. Shirelle glanced around the battlefield draped in shadows. There were too many dangers here: she needed to move Maerciless to a safer location so she could try and remove the jade. She crossed the death knight's arms and straightened her up. With a simple levitate spell, she took most of the weight off, but still grunted as she picked the other draenei up and started for the edge of the gardens.

The dark-skinned draenei's head lolled against her shoulder as Shirelle struggled to navigate the broken battleground. Her heart beat fast and she prayed no one would spot her. She knew she was breaking protocol: there were many other wounded that needed her attending, soldiers in better shape than the still figure in her arms. But there was only one priority on her mind as she moved as quickly as possible. She had seen a small half-circle of broken stone near the edge of the river, close to the edge of the dark stain on the ground. It would provide some shelter so she could try and heal the death knight. She shook the word "try" out of her head and kept going, stumbling over a broken shield and making more noise than she should be. It was getting harder to hold onto her: like most spells cast on the unliving, it was fading already.

Shirelle gritted her teeth as she tried to step lightly over an enemy soldier. A swirl of malevolent black mist rose in front of her all at once, as if it had lain in wait for her arrival. Shirelle gasped, stumbling backwards and trying not to fall, not to jostle Maerciless too much. The mist wrapped around itself, forming searing black eyes, two grasping claws, and an aura of evil. This creature was better organized than any of the other smoke demons, and she could feel a kind of raw, primal sentience spreading out from it, seeking her out. Her heart fluttered in fear, and Maerciless suddenly was a dead weight in her arms. She struggled to hold her even as she felt a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Why was she trying so hard? Maerciless didn't even want to be alive. That was plainly a farewell speech she had given her in camp before they had left. She had never treated a death knight before: how did she know that her body would not recoil at holy light, like a Forsaken's? Where was the line drawn between the living, the unliving, and the undead? Did she have a heart, lungs that breathed, and blood that flowed, or did she exist by necromancy alone? Shirelle looked down at the body in her arms, now seeming more lifeless than before. And even if she managed to save her life, would she ever be able to save her soul?

The weight of the other draenei was so heavy...she should drop her and this insurmountable burden now. Shirelle swayed in exhaustion and her arms sagged as she fell to her knees. The smoke demon before her looked pleased, even approving as it leaned closer to her. It almost felt like it was feeding off of her doubt. She closed her eyes in defeat. As she was about to let Maerciless fall to the ground and faint dead away, she was struck with a single vision, and not a pleasant one: she once again saw herself back in Stormwind Infirmary. He was there of course, whispering to her, touching her...and she was frozen with fear. He seemed bigger and more terrifying than ever, lurking huge and dark over her shoulder, almost black and immaterial in her panic. He grabbed her as before, only rougher, and started to rip her robe. A thought screamed through her mind: Where was Maerciless? He pushed her farther down onto the desk, bruising her face against the wood. Why hasn't she stopped him yet? Where is she? Her mind fought its way up through the panic, back to reality. _She is right here, and you are dropping her. She will die if you don't heal her._

Shirelle's strength returned as her eyes flew open. The swirl of black mist, looking more corporeal by the second, was inches from her face. Shirelle gritted her teeth and stood back up. The creature drifted back uncertainly. Shirelle felt a surge of holy power gather within her, stronger than she had ever felt, and she gestured with one hand.

"Smite," she whispered. The streak of brilliant white seemed to come from nowhere, striking the spectre in a diagonal slash. It evaporated with a shrill shriek.

For a moment Shirelle was jubilant. She had never been able to master her fear long enough to effectively cast a defensive spell against a hostile opponent, let alone vanquishing it in one shot. Then Maerciless slipped in her arms and she remembered her purpose. She gripped her tightly as she struggled to the broken wall. She did not want to risk wasting her energy on another levitate spell. Her legs shook as she lowered her to the ground as gently as possible. The death knight's wound had bled in the brief altercation with the smoke demon: the front of her robes were stained with blackish-red blood. She glanced around quickly to make sure they were out of danger, and slipped her medical bag over her head. Laying it out flat, she took a pair of metal shears and began to work at the ruined breastplate. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she struggled with the piece of armor, finally working it free of the jade impaling it. The movement caused it to bleed afresh, staining the death knight's undershirt. It oozed thickly, as if the blood came from a colder place than a normal person. As Shirelle set the broken armor to the side, something fell out onto the ground. Her breath caught in her throat as she picked up the small package. Wrapped inside a cloth, was her prayer book. It had survived the battle: only the top corner had a smear of blood. She had worn it tucked into her armor, close to her heart. Shirelle squeezed her eyes shut as she held the book to herself, willing herself not to cry. She had to get it together: if Maerciless was going to have a chance, she had to keep going.

Wrapping the book back up in its cloth, she slipped it in her pocket. She wiped the back of her sleeve against her eyes and leaned over her "patient". Her fears earlier had not been unfounded. She had never worked on a death knight before, and they were so new to the military that little was known about how to heal them. She cut Maerciless's shirt away from the jade, blushing slightly as she did what she could for her modesty. She was brought up short as her hand touched her bare skin: she had expected it to be cold to match the chilled aura that rolled off her body in a wave. It was cooler than her own, certainly, but it felt almost...normal. Curious, and encouraged, she carefully laid her ear against the death knight's bare chest. Her heart still beat: slowly, a little erratic, but it was still there. Enclosed in that heartbeat was life, and with it, hope.

Taking some instruments out of her satchel and readying a pile of bandages, Shirelle prepared to remove the jade. Steeling herself, she pulled, then pried, until finally the jade came out, flying out of her hands as it gave. Dark blood, colder than her own, but still warmer than she expected, flooded out of the hole left behind in a sluggish wave. She held a cloth to the gaping wound firmly, slightly panicked at the amount. She could feel the draenei's heart beating against her hands as she pressed, slowly pumping her life out. She stole a look at Maerciless's face: it looked greyish and entirely too still. Fear fluttered in her chest. She was losing too much blood. She had to risk healing the wound.

"Just hold on a little longer," she whispered under her breath as she tried to push her own panic down enough to gather the Light to her. Injuries this serious were usually left to the highest ranking healers. She had never been in charge of anything so closely related to life or death. But time was gone, and she was all there was. She forgot the words she was supposed to say, she forgot the meditative thoughts to align her focus. She closed her eyes and prayed desperately, mutely, with her heart. The answer was immediate and overwhelming: she felt a beacon of Light welling up within her, flowing through her heart and directly out of her hands. All the breath rushed out of her lungs in a gasp. It took all of her effort to open her eyes and try to control the river of Light. It felt like she was seeing the world through a white, foggy lens: she had to rely on her sense of touch to feel the skin around the wound regenerating, drawing together. The flow of blood slowed, then stopped. Maerciless's body arched against her hands, and all she could do was hope it wasn't in agony. There was no stopping the Light until it was done. Her hands were trembling as she felt some of the power in them seep away, back inside of her, where the flame of it was kept. Black drew in around her vision as the energy left, and she slumped forward, unable to fight the encroaching unconsciousness. Her hand curled around a clump of dead grass as her head hit the ground.

* * *

Death so far had not been at all what she expected. First there had been pain, and flying, and a feeling of being swallowed up by blackness. Then she had drifted along in time and space, with only a heavy weight on her chest to anchor her to her body. Maerciless thought, during the brief times she was able to hold a thought, that her punishment was to be forever pinned under some great rock. Of the three outcomes she had imagined in death, reuniting with her grandmother in the afterlife was the best. Simply fading into nothingness was next, although not undesirable: there was no pain in nonexistence. Eternal punishment for all her crimes was the worst. Even if one set aside the atrocities she had committed in the name of the Lich King, she couldn't count the number of lives she had taken just on her last day. This feeling of weightlessness, only slightly marred by the weight pressing into the center of her chest, was nothing like she imagined eternal damnation to be. It was uncomfortable, yes, but it was at least quiet. She could no longer hear the winds of Northrend howl inside of her. It seemed death had granted her peace from that, at least.

She lingered in this place of limbo for several seconds, a thousand years, a millenia. There was no way to tell, and she didn't care to try. Eventually she realized that the weight sitting on her chest was getting heavier. As soon as she drew her attention to it, it was more than uncomfortable, it was painful, and throbbed in time to her heartbeat. Shock slammed her mind back in her body. _Am I still alive?_ She was still trapped in darkness, but she was starting to get feeling back in her limbs. She was laying on something hard and bumpy, and at least part of her armor was gone. Something warm was pressed up against her side, and the throbbing in the center of her chest seemed to be a pair of hands pressing her down. She wanted to struggle against the hands, draw her frost magic to her and blast them off of her, but now that she had found her awareness it was harder to hold on to consciousness. She felt herself slipping away from her body, swept along by a cold impassive wind. She thought she heard a whisper in a familiar voice, and she tried to push back against the wind, to listen for more. The familiarity was at the edge of her mind, threatening to drift away into nothingness, and she clung to it like a life raft. That voice woke her up, gave her a purpose, a will to hold onto what was left of her body. To stay in the land of the living. She WANTED to live.

The pressure in her chest grew warm, then hot, and she seemed to reunite with her body as it tore through her. It was like a burning spring breeze right off of the sun, healing and dangerous. In her mind, she cried out in pain and a fear of being consumed by the heat. It invaded her consciousness until her entire existence was bathed in white. The Light scoured her body clean until she could scarcely remember who she was or anything but its presence. It felt as if a sword might feel, heated up until it was nearly melting, then plunged into a cooling bath, to be forged anew.

As the Light was slowly drawn back out of her, Maerciless took a deep breath. She was completely back in control of her body once again. She could feel the residual pull of injuries that had been recently healed. She brought one hand up and felt at her chest, which still ached. Her armor was missing, her shirt open, and a curious indention was where the pain before had originated. The death knight opened her eyes and looked skyward in surprise: the air was filled with a horrible black smoke. Everything around her was dead. Maerciless pushed herself up, shaking with the effort. Whatever had happened, it had left her horribly weakened. Shaking her head and trying to get her bearings, she took in her immediate surroundings. She was laying next to a broken wall that she recognized as belonging in the Jade Serpent Shrine, but something devastating had happened to it. She spied her breastplate leaning up against the rubble, and as she started to reach for it she froze. Two things struck her at the same time: one, that the lump laying in the grass next to her hip was a person, a draenei, in a very familiar robe; and two, that the armor facing her had a large hole in the center of it. Feeling a little breathless, she tried to reconcile the two images in her mind: Shirelle collapsed on the ground, her own armor obviously destroyed, yet she was in one piece. She rubbed a hand over the scar at her sternum distractedly as she bent over the other draenei and gently shook her shoulder.

"Shirelle?" Her voice croaked, like she hadn't spoken in years. She brushed the priest's tangled black hair out of the way and felt her neck. Her pulse was strong and steady, and her breathing was even. She didn't seem to have anything wrong with her at all. Maerciless frowned, looking around the destroyed landscape and feeling her survival instincts kick in. She crept to the edge of the broken wall and surveyed the area. There had obviously been some kind of explosion at the center of the shrine. The ground was streaked with black almost to the river encircling it. Farther to the middle, she could just make out some other soldiers stumbling around in the smoke. She couldn't tell from here whether they were friendly or not. Her hand automatically went to her hip: her runesword was missing, of course. She squinted around their small sheltered alcove: it wasn't there either. She still had her frost magic, but they were essentially unarmed on a hostile battlefield. She silently cursed her weak legs as she crawled back to where her breastplate was resting. She wouldn't be able to do much of anything if something truly dangerous attacked. She picked up the broken armor and this time her cursing was out loud: the straps had been cut, and the piece was completely ruined. She ran one gloved finger along the edge of the hole in the middle: it came back stained with blood. Feeling her curiosity overtake her caution, she sat back on her hooves and tried to remember what had happened.

She remembered the weight on her chest. She remembered drifting away from her body, and hands on her, pushing her down. Maerciless turned and regarded the unconscious priest behind her. One hand lay half-curled on the ground, and her fingers were stained blackish red. Maerciless put the broken chestpiece aside, and rolled her over to her back. She drew in her breath. There were more stains, on her sleeves, and smeared on the front of her robes. The movement seemed to wake the priest up: she moaned and her eyelids fluttered open. Shirelle's eyes settled on her face, then she gasped and sat up sharply. Maerciless caught her shoulders as she watched her exhausted face go through a transformation: disorientation, recognition, worry, and then relief.

"Careful," she said in a voice lower than usual. She tried to clear her throat around her dry mouth. "I can't tell if you've been injured."

"What?" Shirelle stared at her like she had started speaking another language. She glanced down at her stained clothes and shook her head. "No, I'm fine, this blood is yours! You were horribly injured!"

She pushed Maerciless's hands off of her and reached to touch her forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Her concerned silver eyes peered into hers. Maerciless met her gaze, and to her shock, she felt a warmth bloom in her chest and start to spread to the rest of her body. She brought her hand up to the scar on her sternum, struck down to her core with this feeling inside of her. She had felt nothing but the cold, emptiness of Northrend since she was turned from the paladin she once was. She remembered now the intense heat of the Light pouring into her right before she woke, healing her, cleansing her...had that been Shirelle?

Now it was Shirelle's turn to grab her shoulders and steady her. Her forehead pinched in worry. "Are you okay? I...I did what I could to heal you, I've never healed anything that serious before. But you were bleeding so much, there was no time to get anyone else." Her silver eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I was afraid you were going to die."

Maerciless swallowed hard and pressed one hand between her breasts, against her marred skin, right where she had always believed her soul to reside. Instead of a hollow ache, she felt warmth, her heart beating, her blood pulsing. She felt alive. She closed her eyes and made herself breathe. "What happened?"

She felt Shirelle's hands travel from her shoulders to her face, checking her pulse, performing a quick examination. "You should be laying down, you might have broken ribs," she muttered.

Maerciless opened her eyes and watched the priest's face as she gently walked her fingers up her spine. Her voice sounded more distant as she fell into a healer's ritual. "As best as I can tell, you were caught in the explosion of the Jade Serpent statue." Shirelle's voice was professional but her cheeks were pink as her hands reached the scar at her sternum. It ached as she pressed on it, but not enough to be broken. She sat back and tipped her head at a dark rock the size of the death knight's fist laying near her ruined breastplate. "That chunk of jade was what made the hole in your armor." Maerciless realized the rock was actually green, and the stain on it matched the dried blood on the priest's robe.

Shirelle busied her hands in re-assembling her medical satchel. She started to talk quietly about the destruction of the statue, but Maerciless's focus was inward. Minor changes, remarkable by themselves, but together adding up to more, were swirling around and coalescing in her brain. The quiet in her mind. The peace inside of her. The warmth and feeling in her heart. Maerciless reached down and picked a dead blade of grass. She blinked, and the blade was covered in frost. It was effortless, and the monster that she was before did not stir within her. She still had her abilities, but the pain was gone. She swallowed hard. She turned her piercing blue eyes to the draenei sitting before her, casually re-wrapping herb packets, and chattering away, as if the world were unchanged.

Maerciless pulled her glove off and reached forward. Shirelle started slightly, glancing up at her as her bare hand cupped around her face. Maerciless could feel the warm spot left by the Light pulse in her chest along with her heartbeat as she gently brushed a smudge of dirt off her cheek. Her mouth curved in a smile, a hesitant smile, but a real one, not pained or halfway. Her eyes did not leave the other draenei's.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I don't know what you've done, or how, but you've healed more than my body." She took a deep breath, and tried to calm the confused expression on Shirelle's face. "Ever since Northrend, ever since the Lich King possessed me, I've had a hole inside me that nothing can fill. I assumed that was what was left after I lost my soul."

Shirelle frowned and started to shake her head. Maerciless continued quickly. "It's gone now. The hole is gone." She flattened her gloved hand across the middle of her chest. "I can't explain it, but I no longer feel as if I am damned."

A wide smile spread across Shirelle's face, and Maerciless leaned forward and gently brushed her lips against her forehead. She hesitated, looking off in the distance, almost afraid to speak the next words aloud. "You have saved my soul, Shirelle."

To her surprise, Shirelle threw her arms around her, crushing the remains of her armor in her sudden ferocity.

"Oh Maerciless, you aren't damned! You are the bravest, most loyal person I know!"

Maerciless rested her cheek against Shirelle's dark hair, breathing in her innocence, her trust, her generosity, drinking it in as a dying man might if he suddenly found an oasis in the desert. She disagreed with the priest's statement, of course: but for once it felt right to dwell in a place where her past didn't exist. After a moment, Shirelle let go, and she reluctantly released her. The priest self-consciously brushed her hands down her robes, then with a startled noise retrieved something out of her pocket.

"I found this while I was healing you," she said shyly. She held out her hand, and Maerciless recognized the cloth she had wrapped the small prayer book. She accepted it with an amused expression on her face.

"I—it makes—I'm glad that it was a comfort to you." After starting and stopping several times, Shirelle settled on a neutral phrase at odds with her shining eyes. Maerciless ran her hand over the familiar leather binding.

"I thought I'd lost it in the battle," she said. She had felt the loss of the book almost as much as her runeblade. She started to say as much, when they were both interrupted by the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance. Both she and Shirelle dropped to the ground behind the crumbling wall, Maerciless wincing at the sudden movement. She peered through a crack into the distance. Beyond the edges of the river, a unit of soldiers was approaching the destroyed battlefield. Their armor glinted polished silver in the sparse sunlight, and an Alliance standard was at the front of their regiment. They slowed as they reached the edges of the shrine. Maerciless could hear shouts in human, dwarven, and draenei voices and relaxed against the wall of the alcove they were concealed in.

"A rescue party, " she informed Shirelle, who settled down against the wall beside her. Shoulder to shoulder, they listened to the sounds of their allies discovering and infiltrating the area around them. Maerciless knew she should stand up and meet them, maybe even help look for the remaining survivors of her unit. She felt a stab of guilt as she realized she knew nothing of the rest of the soldiers. Still she stayed in the quiet of the alcove created by the stone wall. Shirelle made no move to leave either, leaned up against Maerciless as much as she could, staring down at her satchel held tight in her lap. Maerciless reached over and took her hand. Shirelle looked up with a tight smile and squeezed her hand in response. As clearly as if they had spoken aloud, they each knew the other's desire. All too soon there would be an invasion of their space, questions to be answered, and the real world spilling in. For now, in this moment, there was only one gloved hand wound tightly around one bare one, one askew shoulder plate pressed against the thin wool of a sleeve, and two hearts beating strongly together.

* * *

Rancid smoke burned Aeschlie's lungs as she picked her way through the wreckage of the battlefield. Covering her nose with one hand, she bent and peered into an overturned cart on what used to be a path. It was stained inky black like everything else, but was empty of survivors. She was afraid most of the army was farther in, near the epicenter.

The battalion of the Silver Hand had been near Dawn's Blossom, chasing down a lead on the whereabouts of Prince Anduin Wrynn when they had heard the explosion rippling through ground. The Commander had made a quick decision, and they had scrambled to the center of the Shrine of the Jade Serpent, called the Serpent's Heart, where they knew the majority of the battle was to take place that day. She was still a little out of breath from the hard ride, but she held herself up tall as she strode through the wreckage. Every second of the day, she was acutely aware of how she held herself, and what others saw. To be a paladin was to be a shining beacon of the Alliance Army. The sight of a battalion of paladins, armor flashing, the halo of the Light surrounding them, was intended to bring hope to their allies and despair to their enemies. Aeschlie shook some of the black mud off of one of her hooves and drew her mouth into a line as she came to the first set of casualties. Whatever had happened today was not a shining example of hope for Azeroth.

She squatted down and carefully examined the small form curled backward around a rock. A gnome mage, thrown apparently. Most likely during the explosion. She whispered a blessing and and touched the center of his forehead. He had already passed on, but Last Rites were required, nonetheless. She moved on, pausing by the bodies tossed about like debris, providing a quick heal when needed, a hand up to evacuate, or a blessing of the departed for those already gone. Her eyes glowed bright with Righteous Light as she performed her duties. There were small groups of survivors clustered around, and their faces reflected the Light as she nodded to them and directed them to where some of the battalion had set up a temporary med center.

She had worked a quarter turn around the circle of the shrine when her confident step faltered. In front of her lay a body clad in dark saronite armor, clutching tight to a runeblade even in death. Her breath came fast and her heart pounded, even though her brain reasoned with her: the skin was blue, but lacked a tail, and the hand had the wrong number of fingers. Maroon braids snaked out of the battered helmet. Forcing herself to keep her composure, she turned the body over with the edge of her mace. A troll death knight, and obviously male. Curling her terrified expression into a sneer, she kicked the corpse and continued on her march, muttering "abomination" under her breath.

"I've never seen anything like it," wondered a voice behind her shoulder. Seraphyna, a petite human with a pair of worn goggles perched on top of her short brown hair, fell into step beside her. Seraphyna was the anomaly of the group: her armor was less than immaculate, her demeanor twitchy and she tended to speak her mind whenever she liked. She made up for it in intelligence and military tactics: she could lay out a battle as easy as she could a blueprint in her head, moving all the little pieces around until they meshed into an oiled machine. Some of the more disdainful paladins called her half-gnome behind her back, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. Aeschlie found her frankness refreshing.

She was already analyzing the battlefield, muttering to herself and making marks on a map of the area, darkening the area around the Jade Serpent statue with a circular black stain. "Here is where the Horde army was established, and here is where Commander Teegan's forces entered the scene. Here is the ballistae, the catapults," she made more tickmarks on the page, then shook her head. "Even with the bombardment from both sides, I can't understand why the statue just detonated like that."

Aeschlie nudged a broken piece of a fence that was now stained black with her hoof. "Or for everything to have been poisoned."

A plume of acrid smoke, perhaps attracted by their their voices, swirled towards them. Aeschlie felt a wave of malevolent energy wash over her, sharp and unexpected even in this destruction. Beside her, she heard Seraphyna drop her papers and curse in a very un-paladin like way.

"What the hell is that?" she said as she drew her weapon. Aeschlie followed suit, and drew the Light around her. She was surprised to struggle with it, feeling as if she were pulling it through sludge. The weight of her armor suddenly seemed to double, and it took all her energy to infuse her mace with Light and cast it at the being. Seraphyna took a more direct approach, and simply shot a beam of holy energy at it. It evaporated back into the air around them, and Aeschlie took a deep breath, feeling the weight lift off of her. She exchanged a look with the shorter paladin.

"There is something evil at work here."

They continued to move slowly through the ruined battlefield, Aeschlie handling the paladin duties and Seraphyna noting the position of everything on her recovered paper. They encountered several more of the smoke demons, and each one lodged a seed of hopelessness inside of her that was getting harder to shake off. Presently they came upon a group of survivors being tended to by several other members of the Silver Hand. Vindicator Vaanok, a high-ranking draenei paladin with impressive-looking pauldrons perched on his massive shoulders, met them as they approached.

"Bad business," he said in heavily-accented Common. He shook his head as he looked around the battlefield. "Shrine is poisoned beyond healing."

Seraphyna stepped forward to show the Vindicator her notes, and Aeschlie automatically went to check on the group of survivors. Their injuries were numerous and they told different tales, but they all held the same haunted look in their eyes. Her heart wrenched at a pair of gnomes holding hands and crying quietly to the side. Her eyes full of the Light, she did what she could to rejuvenate them, but memories could never be erased of their fallen comrades in battle. Behind her was a shout as more survivors were found, and she gave one of the gnomes a comforting pat on the shoulder before rising to assist.

It was telling how pre-occupied she had been with the grieving gnomes that it took her a full minute to take in the worn black armor against denim-colored skin, blazing blue eyes, and short black curls on the draenei trailing slowly behind the white robed priest being helped to the makeshift rescue camp. She froze to the spot. The death knight had obviously been injured in battle; her breastplate was completely gone, and small dents and knicks littered the remains of her armor. Although she walked at a pace that betrayed a weakness in her step, Aeschlie was taken aback at how brilliantly her eyes lit up the peacefulness in her face. She forgot to breathe: she knew Allendrelle's age down to the day, and how much her torture in Northrend had seemed to age her prematurely. With the lines of pain gone from it, her face seemed as young as it had been before their last campaign together. Numbly she watched her pause outside the circle of refuges from the battle and lean against a ruined tree. The death knight kept her eyes on the priest as she knelt down with the other soldiers and took a cup of water gratefully from a dwarf. Aeschlie realized with a start it was the draenei priest that had stayed in the apartment a lifetime ago. Her hood was pulled around her face, but she had to be the same one.

"Those two confirmed our description of the smoke demons." Once again, Seraphyna managed to slip behind her unnoticed, and this time she startled visibly. The other paladin gave her a quizzical look before continuing. "There is little evidence of survivors near the epicenter, but we're to make a full sweep of this quadrant," she pointed to the paper in her hand, which had evolved into a detailed map, "and make a report."

"Let's hurry it up then," Aeschlie said crossly. She set off without waiting for Seraphyna to catch up. "I want out of this Light-forsaken place as quickly as possible."

As she strode off towards the center of the shrine, the pain that had struck her blazed into a fire of anger. More than once she nearly trampled a victim and had to be reminded to stop and perform the Rites, and she did so abruptly and without the proper reverence. She knew she was getting too worked up, that she was shaming the Light with her attitude, but she couldn't seem to control it. The years since Allendrelle's passing (_and she did pass, she died, that thing that bears her memories is no longer Allendrelle)_ had nearly killed her at first, she had gone wild, gone rogue, until finally she came back to the Order of the Silver Hand, repentant, subservient, obedient. Willing to give her life completely over to the Light and do something good for the world, in spite of the pain. Years and years she hid her grief beyond the rigidity of rules, shaping herself into a shining beacon to the Light. She was dedicated, loyal, a bit proud perhaps, but it was a minor fault and her hard work showed as she rose in rank as a paladin. Yes, once upon a time, there was a girl she was close to _(loved)_, and that girl fell honorably in battle saving her life. She had moved on to greater goals in life than adolescent fancy.

And then this...thing...showed up in Stormwind, wearing Allendrelle's blue eyes and her words and her steadfast dedication, this unnatural being pretending to be alive. It continued on as if it didn't know it had died several years ago, and insisted on fulfilling promises made under the heat of wine and rash behavior. Aeschlie's eyes flashed as she took out a smoke creature in one blaze of holy Light. As quickly as she was eradicating the beings that fed on her doubts, their negative energy was still starting to seep into her soul. If she was past caring about that time long ago, then why did it matter if the death knight had fixated on someone else?

Without realizing it, Aeschlie had reached the edge of the black hole that now dominated the middle of the Serpent's Heart. She stood at the edge, feeling the waves of doubt and sorrow, palpable and thick as a fog, flood out and fill the surrounding air. For a long moment, she was overtaken and completely trapped in a past she had tried so hard to forget.

_Although the passion from the kiss was still flowing through her veins, Aeschlie tried to steer the conversation back to what she had meant to say, instead of letting the heat of the moment turn her reactions physical._

"_I mean that, though, about making a good team? There's no one I'd rather be fighting with on the field." She looked straight into Allendrelle's dark blue eyes, bright with the emotions that showed on her flushed cheeks. "No matter what happens, I've got your back, and you've got mine. Right?"_

_She held her hand out. The other draenei clasped it tightly, her gaze turning intense. _

"_I promise."_

By the time Seraphyna had caught up with her, huffing and grumping about her running ahead without her, the tears had dried on her pale cheeks. She offered no explanation for her hurried march, and in silence turned and headed back with the other paladin to make her report. They took a slower pace back, trying to bless the fallen soldiers they had missed. Aeschlie paused for a minute before a large runeblade half-buried under the body of a monkey-like creature called a hozen. Compared to the barrage earlier, the flicker of emotion that ran through her was faint as she used the edge of her hoof to push the enemy soldier aside. Without thinking, she bent to pick the sword up. It was heavy in her grip, and even heavier with the aura of necromantic magic that pulsed through it. Beside her Seraphyna wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Ugh, that stinks of foul magic. Let's leave it here."

"That's mine." The soft raspy voice that was as familiar to her as breathing, had already been on her mind so much, that Aeschlie looked up with no surprise on her face. Maerciless, as she was now called, stood several yards in front of her. She had not bothered to don any other armor, and Aeschlie's eyes were drawn to the jagged scar that ran down the center of her chest. Maerciless answered her unspoken question in her usual straight-forward way.

"I was caught in the explosion. Shirelle saved my life."

"Lucky you." The retort was automatic, but had no venom in it. Beside her, Seraphyna curled her lip and didn't bother to hide her intolerance.

"We've got this area covered, Death Knight, you can return to the refuge camp," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

Maerciless nodded to the weapon still in Aeschlie's hand. "Just recovering my runeblade." She stepped forward, close enough that Aeschlie could feel the chill rolling off of her, and held out her gloved hand. Aeschlie hesitated, then placed the necromantic blade in it. She glanced up as she did so, and for the first time since her return from Northrend, she looked fully into her face, with no malice, no fear, simply looking. The death knight seemed a little startled by her frank stare, but she held it for a few moments, also just looking. A minute passed, then broke as Maerciless raised her eyebrows, softening her expression and inclined her head slightly in her direction as she sheathed the sword.

"Thank you."

Without another word, she turned and walked away. Seraphyna had leaned in to whisper a malicious comment about the state of the death knight's armor, but Aeschlie stopped her with a wave of her hand. Dragging her eyes from the retreating figure, she started back in the direction of the Vindicator and the rest of the paladin regiment. Seraphyna threw up her hands as she followed suit.

"What is with you today?" Aeschlie ignored her. In the distance, she could see the crowd of refuges gathered as they prepared to evacuate en masse to safer grounds. As she watched, Maerciless laid a hand on the shoulder of the white-robed priest, who reached up to grasp it. There was a smile on her exhausted face as she met the eyes of the death knight, and Aeschlie did what she was determined to do from now on.

She looked the other way and focused on her duty.


	5. Prologue Part One

**Author's Note: This is the first in a series of three flashbacks/prologue based on Mercy. Once upon a time, there were two inseparable paladins, Allendrelle and Aeschlie, and one night that changed their lives. This scene was referenced in the fourth chapter.**

* * *

"In here!"

A muffled giggle came from the dark shadow of a giant tree at the outskirts of camp. Allendrelle paused, looking wearily around for the patrol on watch. The dark-skinned draenei could see them at the north end of the sea of tents, chatting with the guards at the entrance. Security had been lax in the last few weeks: going over a month without seeing the enemy made everyone feel a little bold, a little invincible. The voice came again, this time getting impatient.

"Come ON Allie!"

With one last glance at the guards, Allendrelle pushed her way through the prickly bushes at the base of the tree, cursing under her breath as her armor snagged on the thorns. She was making quite a bit more noise than she wanted to for someone breaking curfew.

"How did you get through here so quietly?" she whispered, half under her breath. Aeschlie's head popped up from behind the bush.

"I went around, where the path is." The other draenei grinned impishly, her light blue eyes shining in the moonlight.

Allendrelle sighed deeply, and pushed her way through the rest of the bush. Three trees grew side by side behind it, so close together they seemed as one from a distance. Their overlapping trunks formed a natural hollow nearly hidden by the foliage. It was in here that Aeschlie beckoned. Allendrelle got down on her knees and crawled through the cramped opening, and was pleasantly surprised to find it was much bigger inside than she thought. The other draenei had spread a wool blanket down on the earth floor, and there was plenty of room to sit up straight without knocking her head against the ceiling. It was actually quite cozy. She folded her legs under her as Aeschlie dug around in a bag and produced a bottle. The dark-skinned draenei wrinkled her nose.

"Ugh, not more of that dwarven swill." Aeschlie had been on a quest for good liquor ever since they started on this campaign. Although a favorite of their allies, neither draenei had gotten used to the dark, heady ale that was characteristic of the breweries of Dun Morough. With a sly smile, Aeschlie turned the bottle towards her friend to read. The writing was distinctively Draenish. Allendrelle grabbed the bottle to look closer.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, incredulous. It was the real thing, bottled before the fateful exodus from Draenor, now called Outland. Aeschlie leaned forward and snatched it back. She started yanking on the top to open it.

"Lt. Nuural had a secret stash in his trunk. He won't notice one missing." The cork came out with a satisfying pop. She took a swig of the liquid straight from the bottle, then passed it back to Allendrelle. The glass was smooth in her palm as she took a drink. It tasted harsh with a hint of sweet, just like home.

After a few rounds of passing it back and forth, Allendrelle felt the warmth from the alcohol settle in her belly and spread to her limbs. Both draenei had removed the outer pieces of their armor and she was now resting with her head in Aeschlie's lap. As the two talked, swapping stories of early life on Draenor, paladin trainers both headstrong and humorous, and curiosities about their new home of Azeroth, a peaceful bubble seemed to form around the hollow beneath the trio of trees. Much like the atmosphere surrounding the army camp as of late, Allendrelle felt nearly invincible, safe and buoyant under the affects of the strong drink and the comfort of her friend's presence. She closed her eyes, letting the feeling settle over her like a warm blanket as she half-listened to Aeschlie spin yet another funny tale of training mishaps.

The two draenei paladins had not become friends until they had clung together in the early hours after the crash of the Exodar, scared and disoriented on the unfamiliar planet. They had grown up in different parts of Draenor, and had mostly trained under different mentors. But that night the only thing that mattered was they were both draenei, and were willing to work together to help rescue the rest of their brethren and try to gain their footing in their new home. They had been inseparable ever since, requesting to be on all the same assignments and constantly watching out for each other. They were both very skilled as paladins, and in a battle learned to move and fight almost as one. Off the field, their personalities were different but complementary, and Allendrelle couldn't imagine life without her daring companion by her side.

"...But he didn't realize his armor was unbuckled, and we could all see his..." Aeschlie couldn't finish, she was laughing so hard. Allendrelle laughed too; she couldn't help it, the lighter-skinned draenei's laugh was so infectious. Her horns scraped against Aeschlie's midriff through her shirt as she shook with laughter and she shrieked, pushing Allendrelle off her lap.

"Aaaahh! No tickling!" she gasped between giggles. The other draenei didn't even hesitate. She tackled her, and the two tussled on the earthen floor, wrestling poorly in their drunken, mirthful state. Finally they both collapsed, too dizzy to declare a winner. Allendrelle watched the whirls in the wood above her spin lazily as Aeschlie rolled over against her, settling her head on her shoulder. Allendrelle's arm automatically curled around her in a protective gesture, and Aeschlie sighed as she relaxed into her embrace. She was almost dozing when the other draenei spoke, quietly breaking the silence.

"Do you think of home much?" Only a slight slur to her voice betrayed the haze of the alcohol surrounding her. Allendrelle turned her head slightly to glance at her friend. Her pale hair was in disarray, her bangs covering her pale blue eyes. She wore only a thin sleeveless shirt under her armor (that was piled haphazardly in the corner, jumbled together with her own) and it lay against her skin loosely. Her breeches had come unlaced and the knees were smudged from the earthen floor they were sprawled on. Her eyes, usually a mixture of confidant and playful, were wide and solemn. Altogether it gave her a very vulnerable look, and Allendrelle instinctively pulled her closer.

"A little," she admitted. She brushed the other draenei's hair from her eyes. Her voice took on a wistful tone.

"On clear nights, I remember sneaking away, and climbing into the tallest trees I could find. There were plenty around my grandmother's house, and although she was always chasing us out of them during the day, at night I was free to sit as long as I liked. I used to scale as far as a dared, until the branches were so thin they would sway and nearly shake me off, and I would watch the stars. After The Sundering, the stars changed every night: I often wondered whose night sky I was seeing, what kind of people lived under those stars."

The buzz made her head heavy, and she lay back down to stare at the tree roots above her.

"It's the little things about those nights I remember the most: the sound of the talbuk herd sleeping behind my grandmother's house, the windrocs in the ravine, and farther away, the clefthoofs out in the plains. The smell of the Dreaming Glory on the breeze. Even my grandmother's cooking. Those are the things I miss the most." Allendrelle was surprised to feel her voice catch in her throat to think of her grandmother's talbuk farm and the quiet times spent in it. She was relieved when Aeschlie continued talking.

"My family were fishermen in Terokkar, near the border of Nagrand. Father was a paladin as well, and was gone a lot with the army. But his favorite thing in the world was to man the fishing nets himself, and bring the catch in for the day. I think he preferred the simpler life." She laughed and sat up, shaking dirt and leaves out of her pale hair. "Not me. I'd rather be where the action is. I left home to be a paladin as soon as I was of age." Allendrelle picked up one of the leaves newly settled on her shoulder and flicked it at the other draenei with a laugh.

"I believe that," she said with a wry smile. The devil-may-care look had returned to Aeschlie's face, and she swung one slender leg over Allendrelle and sat down on her stomach less than gracefully. She leaned forward on her hands and studied the dark-skinned draenei's face for a moment. The strong drink made Allendrelle more sensitive to the weight of the other draenei perched on her, and her heart began to speed up of its own accord. The warmth of her body was almost too pleasant, and it took a lot of effort to remain still. Aeschlie's eyes were scrutinizing her soul, with just a hint of soft around the edges.

"I'm glad we found each other, Allie," she said, leaning down slightly lower. Allendrelle felt her breath gentle on her face. "We make a good team, you know? We're unstoppable in the skirmishes, no one can beat us." The memory of the two of them teaming up during training to take on the other soldiers in the encampment flickered through her mind, but quickly ran away as she felt Aeschlie's lips brush hers. Heat rushed up into her face, but she did not pull away. The haze from the alcohol buzzed in her ears as she kissed her back, reaching up to pull her down into her arms. The comfortable weight of her friend felt so right against her, like two halves made whole. Several breathless minutes passed as she held her tight against her. Allendrelle felt Aeschlie stiffen slightly and push back, sitting up. She tried to lean up with her, but the other draenei held a hand to her chest, holding her back as she broke the kiss. Aeschlie laughed quietly, a blush bright on her cheeks as she sat up and pushed her silver hair out of her eyes. Allendrelle leaned up on her elbows and stared at her, trying to remember how to breathe. The other draenei continued to retreat, climbing off of her and sitting down awkwardly on the floor, still giggling nervously. Allendrelle squashed a tremendous desire to grab her and keep her there. A slow fire had been kindled in her belly and was starting to overpower the buzz from the alcohol. She had no idea what had just happened there, but she was not ready to let it go yet. Aeschlie was still backtracking.

"Sorry, I think we got a little carried away there," she kept her eyes to the side as she tried to smooth her clothing down. Allendrelle fought with herself for a long minute. On one hand, the spark that was lit between them was burning fiercely inside her, and she wanted nothing more than to scoop her up in her arms again, touch her face, kiss her neck...she ground her fists into her eyes and made herself stop. Aeschlie was obviously uncomfortable, and if she pushed her now she would run away.

"I guess so," she agreed reluctantly. After a few awkward moments, Aeschlie tried to recover the conversation.

"I mean that, though, about making a good team? There's no one I'd rather be fighting with on the field." Her confidence building back, she rested her pale blue eyes on Allendrelle's darker blue ones. "No matter what happens, I've got your back, and you've got mine. Right?" She held her hand out. Allendrelle clasped it tightly.

"I promise." She held her gaze steady with hers. Her heart thundered in her chest as the look turned intense. Aeschlie was the first to break away, although she hesitated a bit before doing so. She grabbed her cloak out of the messy pile of gear behind them.

"Let's try and sleep this liquor off before we have to go on duty tomorrow," she said as she balled it up for a pillow. She laid her head down, her eyes closing almost immediately. After a few moments, Allendrelle grabbed her cloak and did the same. With only a slight pause, she curled up against the lighter-skinned draenei, laying her free arm over her and pulling her close. The peaceful bubble that had built up over the course of the night held while the two slept until morning.


End file.
